


take me back to the start

by orphan_account



Series: along the invisible curve [6]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6th in "along the invisible curve". The College Years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This part contains references to dub-con and non-con. Do not read further if you could get triggered by mentions of this; it's not explicit, but the effects are touched upon.
> 
>  _Tell me you love me  
>  Come back and haunt me  
> Oh and I rush to the start_
> 
> Running in circles  
> Chasing tails  
> And coming back as we are  
> ~ [The Scientist, Coldplay (right-click, open in new window, to listen](http://www.box.net/shared/31mbsnury5))

~ _late summer 2005_ ~

 

[Radio:]  
 _  
How do you give me so much pleasure  
And cause me so much pain?  
Just when I think  
I've taken more than would a fool  
I start fallin' back in love with you_

I keep on  
Fallin'  
In and out of love with you  
I never loved someone  
The way that I love you   


 

"Another popular love song - and, surprise, it suits, almost like Cinderella's glass slipper, anyone's attire. Might have to adjust a toe or a heel here and there, but in general. And hey, if the shoe fits.

Anyway, I can honestly say that it's good to be back. First day and all, I hope y'all missed me? And had a good summer; I know I certainly didn't. Thanks for all the nice mail; when I got to the Studio and saw it, I turned right around and walked back home to catch another hour of sleep.

"I'll finish the song for you, let you have a bit more of the R&B lady hitting the charts. I think it fits the weather, anyway. And then I'll be back with some talk on musique for the soul, the lawsuit Vuitton is slapping Google with, if you've heard about that. Since my summer consisted of slave laboring for them twenty-four seven, I find it only justified that they be the ones handing me the material for my radio show.

"Plus, more music by my personal favourite, if you've been listening to me babble for the past two years or so, you'll be bleeding out of the ears by now from it, if not, you'll get used to hearing Miss Aguilera around here more often than not. Anyway, enjoy Alicia Keys as long as it lasts, this is Weir for WFIT, I'll be back in a few."

Johnny pressed the button to finish playing the song he'd queued just before going on live, pulled back from the mike and sat more comfortably in his squishy chair, taking his notebook with him, twirling the pen between his fingers.

He was _exhausted_. He'd had barely a week of vacation between junior year and the now starting final year. He'd been interning all summer, his third summer in a row, designing and drawing and stitching and somehow, it just made him all so tired from inside out.

At least, he'd been able to prepare his next few discussion points for his show, and written up some non-fiction to help out the guys from over at the newspaper. College politics. And yet, that had been _fun_ for a change. Unlike running around planning shows and scheduling appointments and shoving designs under people's noses, which he didn't get to do quite as often as he'd hoped he might.

"Who's on after me?" he asked Tessa, who passed behind him to get to the computers, carrying two large volumes about informatics and physics in her arms like a shield.

"Scott? Maybe? Just check the freakin' schedule." She gave a long sigh at his puppy eyes. "I know you're hopeless with computers, but seriously, Weir, nobody's _that_ hopeless. Just click the big-ass file on the desktop labeled 'team schedule', it opens by itself, all you need to do is read. You can read, right? Decipher the tiny letters before your eyes?"

"Yes, Tess, I can do that. Thanks."

"Superb. It's good to see you, by the way. I gotta go do the software updates now, otherwise someone might get trouble with the music listings tomorrow. Let me know if you notice any errors."

"Will do," Johnny agreed and tuned back to the mike, waiting out the last beats before he switched it back on.

 

~*~

 

Stéphane had had two days to get used to being in the city. It was not enough.

He didn't think it would be enough even if he had two more _weeks_. New York was just different from anywhere else. It wasn't that he wasn't used to living in a big city - hell, Madrid was huge, and he'd been living there, going to school there for the past three years. It had been just as sparkly and brilliant, if not more so, than New York.

Here, he felt like something was cutting off the air and there was none left to breathe. It was crowded everywhere, especially at NY Acting School, where he'd been accepted a few months ago, inspired by his foray into theatre and musical works in Madrid.

Plus, he wasn't used to living with other people anymore. He'd done that at first, after he'd cut off from his cousin, not wanting to bother her any more than he already had; he'd shared an apartment with three other people those first few months in Madrid, but not for almost two years.

He was back to having two flatmates now, and the apartment was tiny. New York was too expensive. Second day, and he was starting to hate it. He'd made quite a bit of money in the past years - spending it all on the rent hadn't been the plan.

Stéphane threw the last of his books on his shelves (unpacking always took him ages), grabbed one for reading and left the room to get something to eat. They shared a kitchen, so he wasn't surprised when he found Daisuke sitting at the table, crunching on fries.

"Kimmie gone already?" he asked amiably.

"Yep," Daisuke nodded, possibly to the beat of the music he was listening to on his iPod. "Modelling job. Chattered about it all morning, keep your fingers crossed, I think she's hyped about this one."

"She's a model?"

Daisuke grinned. "No."

"Huh?"

"Charity. She's a student. English, philosophy, psychology, as far as I know. Maybe something else on top." He waved his hand. "You know. Whatever it is the elite do these days."

"What is she doing in an apartment like this if she's rich?"

"Study of independence?" Daisuke shrugged. "But I gotta be off now, too. I'll see you tonight if you're there for dinner." He pointed at the list on the fridge. "Dinner plan. You can join in if you want. Cheaper to cook for more people."

"Okay," Stéphane said. "Have fun in your classes?"

"Art History and Aesthetics," Daisuke rolled his eyes. "Why did I pick this course again?" He didn't seem to expect any reply, just grabbed his backpack which Stéphane hadn't even noticed by his foot, took the plate and put it in the sink before heading off.

When he was gone, the apartment felt emptier. It also felt bigger, more spacious. Stéphane liked that. It was a nice change. Breathing in slowly, he grabbed a cookie from the jar - he was baking again, much to the delight of the other two -, made himself some hot chocolate and sat down at the kitchen table with his book, checking the clock. He had four more hours before the first introductory course. He didn't know why that was in the evening - early evening, but still. For whatever reason that was, until then, he had to find a way to entertain himself.

And of course, even though reading was as good a distraction as any, there was always an itch in the back of his mind, reminding him that there was something _constructive_ he could be doing, that there was - something he'd been putting off for two days now. Something that hadn't been letting him rest well for the past few weeks, since he'd fully decided to go back to America and stay in New York.

The thing was, Stéphane had no idea where Johnny was. What he was doing. If there was any way of reaching him, if he was even still in the city, if he was still a student, if he'd made his dream of getting into the fashion scene come true.

It wouldn't have been so hard to pick up the laptop and google the name, or search the register of students at the Fashion Institute. It was just an itch, he reminded himself when his fingers started to prickle. It was just because he didn't know anyone else here, because Johnny was a friend, a familiar face. It would pass.

He wasn't so sure he believed that himself, but he resolutely closed the lid on any further thought in that direction and focused back on his book. Harry Potter surely beat Johnny Weir by a wide margin.

 

~*~

 

A tap to his shoulder caught Johnny's attention just as he was about to queue another song.

"Give them the ads and then I'll take over," Scott grinned at him when Johnny turned his head, both annoyed and relieved to find out it was his replacement.

"You are so late," Johnny admonished. "I should have been out of here fifteen minutes ago."

"Yeah, sorry, classes started today, and what do you know, the prof let this one run long. Won't happen again, I swear. Now, shoo, move over."

Johnny got up from his seat and grabbed his bag. "You on tomorrow as well?"

"Might be. I'll see how my schedule turns out. Did you save the log of already-played songs? We don't want to have a repeat session, like we did that one time, right?"

"Yep, I ticked off the box where it says 'log' in the program anyway. I have no idea where you can find it. Ask Tessa, she knows these things."

From her seat a couple feet away at the main host, Tessa's chin jerked up at the mention of her name. "Do not ask Tessa these things," she conveyed in their direction as her fingers clacked on. "I have enough work getting out the knots you people put into my lovely system by simply using it."

"Aw, don't be mean, it's not our fault we can't sooth a machine as well as you can," Scott said.

Tessa sing-songed an insult at him and then turned to focus back on her computer, typing so quickly the keys rattled.

"I gotta go, all right?" Johnny said. "I'll see you when I see you?"

"Yep, will do. Oh, and Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Drew's downstairs by the elevator, so don't keep him waiting by taking the stairs."

Scott's grin was infectious; Johnny couldn't help but return it before he hurried out of the studio they'd been assigned by the institute - nicer offices than they'd thought they'd get, located inside the DD Student Center, just fifteen minutes from most of his lecture rooms.

 

~*~

 

'Taking a walk' turned into 'a walk across campus' turned into 'a walk into the Arts and Design center' where Stéphane hadn't wanted to end up. He couldn't quite get his feet to obey, though. He had no way of knowing Johnny would be there. He had no way of knowing _when_ Johnny would be there. Stéphane also had no plan what to say, should they - chance on his side - run into each other.

He had no idea what he was even _doing_.

There was photography everywhere, black-and-white, color, the same people over and over in different lightening and dresses, crazy poses. They were just there, hanging on the walls, or from the walls, or lying around, printed-out flyers, advertisement for the institute which it probably didn't even need. Someone called out, "Hey!" and a flash hit him square in the face as a boy hurried past, giving him a grin and a wave. "Thanks!"

"Uhm," he mumbled, "No problem." He didn't want to know how that one turned out. Blurry. And he'd probably squeezed his eyes shut and pulled a grimace.

He walked and walked and at some point landed back at the exit again more by chance than skill, took in the huge black board with news and advertisements, offers of notebooks, apartments, free rooms, models, searches for newspaper editors and radio show hosts and artists who could tell one end of a dress from another and - he bit his lip.

He remembered that one evening in the summer during high school, before everything had gone down the drain, before they'd - before that first kiss and the changes and everything. He remembered they'd ridden their bikes out into the cornfields, how they'd left them at the roadside, stumbling into the sea of wheat stalks, laughing like kids, out of breath and red-faced, sweat shimmering. He remembered falling side by side to lie on their backs, eyes closed against the cloudless sky.

When he'd caught a ladybug on his hand, starting to count its dots, Johnny'd said, "Did you know there's this weird ritual, turn over your hand and if it falls off, it'll rain, and if it flies, the sun'll stay at least for as many days as it has dots?"

He'd laughed, and Johnny had leaned over, their noses inches apart and added, "And you can't _really_ see the Chinese wall from the moon."

He recalled his own breathless reply, he'd been holding his stomach in more laughter. "You really need your own radio show so you can make humanity smart again."

Stéphane turned his head away and rubbed his sweaty hands against his jeans. He didn't know Johnny now. He'd never really known Johnny, or at least, he doubted he had. Johnny then - Johnny back then would have jumped at the opportunity... if Stéphane knew him at all, he would guess there were two things Johnny might still be enjoying in his free time outside of fulfilling his dream of creating fashion - talking bullshit on air and skating figures on ice.

And the studio was just a few feet away, anyway, so he might as well go check if they knew him there.

 

~*~

 

"Well, that was... slow," Drew dead-panned and grinned hugely as Johnny tumbled out of the elevator along with about a dozen other people; unlike them, though, Johnny tumbled into him, pulling him into a tight hug, and pressed a quick kiss on his lips.

"Don't complain," Johnny said. "I was the one who had to work overtime just because you guys couldn't get your asses here faster."

"Class," Drew pointed out. "Not my fault. You know I'd never ditch you."

"Except that one time -"

"Hospital. Excuse enough, I'd say."

"... true."

"So how about, to show my deepest and humblest apology, I take you out for lunch, milord?"

"That sounds acceptable," Johnny smiled. "I say we have fruit salad for lunch. I saw this adorable café last time I got lost while walking home -"

"You got lost again?"

"No, I didn't. I was trying a new shortcut."

"Ah. That explains it."

"Anyway. Fruit salad. And coffee."

"As always."

"Do not diss the coffee, lover. It is good for the soul."

"As is chocolate," Drew grinned. "And you're not touching that."

"That's because it makes me fat."

Drew grabbed his hand, laced their fingers together and pulled him outside, away from the building and onto the street. "You're crazy," he remarked, laughing.

Johnny smiled and leaned in close. "Just a little bit."

 

~*~

 

It was not especially hard to find the WFIT studio, as all signs pointed in the appropriate direction. The elevator bucked and jerked and spit like an angry dragon on the upwards-lift and Stéphane was kind of glad when he could stumble out, fortunately still in one piece.

Down, he swore, he was taking the stairs.

There didn't seem to be a great many people working here; no one was coming his way and he'd been the only person in the elevator getting out on the fourth floor. That might have been also because most students probably shared the sentiment and didn't get on the elevator in the first place.

Stéphane took a few steps down the hallway, checking each door - behind some of them were storage rooms, and then he hit one that had a little tag by it that read "WFIT Studio", which seemed just about right.

As he stood there, contemplating what to do next, it did occur to him once more that he was in _deep_. Johnny was probably not even here right now or ever; and what would he ask some random stranger? And what if he was wrong, what if Johnny was not the person who did something like this; after all, there were so many different things he could be doing instead.

Stéphane rubbed his forehead and sighed. He was crazy. Just because of one throw-away line, of a laugh they'd shared a few years back, the possibility of them meeting here was so slim -

The door opened with a bang and would have hit him square in the face if he hadn't jumped back on pure instinct.

"Oh -" the girl storming out gasped, mouth open. Her long dark braid went flying behind her. "Oh, I am so sorry. I didn't see you there."

Stéphane swallowed a breath. "'s okay," he said. "I was standing around being stupid. My fault."

"What's up?" She was clutching at some books, head tilted to the side. "Are you here for the radio show? Scott?" She turned around to call out to someone behind her in the room. "Did you invite someone -?"

"No, no, I'm not," Stéphane hastily said. "I'm looking for a guy, I thought he might be -"

"Oh, all right. Quick, make a song wish, then. He's doing the wish-a-song-routine again."

Stéphane frowned. "Uhm, I don't know, what's - oh, okay. Uhm, can you do 'Beautiful'? By James Blunt?"

"Scott!" the girl shoved the door wider open. "He wants that cheesy 'Beautiful' song!"

Stéphane felt himself blush.

Apparently, Scott was the guy manning the machinery, because there was a rattle of a chair and then a male voice calling over, "Ask him who it's for!"

The girl gave him a grin. "You heard the man."

"What's your name?" Stéphane grinned back.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, you are not!"

"It's for her!" Stéphane called to Scott inside the room.

There was a loud whoop and then some clatter. "Got you, man!" Laughter. "Dude, you've got a beer good with me!"

Stéphane could feel himself grin, warmth spreading through his body at having made someone else laugh. He hadn't heard anyone else laugh for days and hadn't realized how much he'd missed it.

The girl rolled her eyes. "It's Tessa," she said. "And before you ask, I am so not going out with you."

"I wasn't!" Stéphane protested.

"Who are you looking for?"

"I'm just - I've got this friend? His name's Johnny, and I thought maybe I would find him here?"

"Johnny? As in, Johnny Weir?"

There was a rush of heat through him at the sound of the name, a pull from his navel up. "You - you know him," he said, not a question, just a statement, half-disbelief.

"Yeah, sure," Tessa said, "but you missed him. Did he tell you to be here now? Because he's actually been off for a while, a good half hour -"

"No, no, I..." Stéphane hesitated, unsure, suddenly scared, because if this was a bad idea, if he was wrong, it would _hurt_ again and he couldn't -. "I - I just thought I'd drop by, uhm, see if I catch him. Surprise and all that," he finished slowly.

Tessa gave him a thoughtful look. "Don't, next time. Advance warnings are your friends. And Johnny hates surprises."

"I bet he does," Stéphane said, and gave her a quick smile. "I'll leave you to your work, then. Thank you so much for the information." He turned to go.

"Hey," Tessa called him back.

"What?"

"What's your name?"

"Oh. It's Stéphane."

"All right, Stéphane. Come back in two days around three, he'll be getting off then. You might catch him before Drew comes to get him for lunch."

Stéphane opened his mouth to ask, but then decided not to, closed it and nodded once more in thanks. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to come here again. But on the off chance that he might find himself unable to resist, he stored the information safely in his brain. Just in case.

 

~*~

 

Drew loved kissing. It was one of the things that'd made Johnny love him so much, how he could just lean over during the most mundane activities like making sandwiches, touch Johnny's hip and turn him halfway, just enough to get to his lips, covering them with his own.

Drew's tongue sneaked into his mouth as Johnny laughed, just like that first time, over a movie and a bowl of popcorn which had been badly burned and tasted atrocious. With Drew, these things just kind of happened, easy and smooth, no issues, no drama.

"We should -" Johnny mumbled into the kiss.

"Finish dinner, yeah," Drew grinned, kissing him once more, just a quick peck, before drawing away. "I can see you starve as we speak."

"Shut up."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll tie you to the bed and have my wicked way with you."

"Adorable. With what muscle?"

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "You'll see. I'll catch you unawares."

Drew held up the knife with which he sliced another bit of bread. "I'm armed."

"Unawares, that's all I'm saying."

Drew laughed. "Okay, cowboy. Slap your toppings between your bread and hurry up now, though. The show's starting."

They grabbed their plates and Johnny smiled when Drew's hand settled on the small of his back as they left for the makeshift living room. They only had two rooms, everything else, even this far outside the city, just wasn't affordable, though Johnny had a feeling that it was more Drew's pride than his parents' lack of finances that kept him from asking for more. He didn't mind, though. They slept together every night anyway and the couch could be turned into an extra bed if either of them needed their space. The fact that the living room held a TV and Johnny's whole fashion get-up didn't seem to bother Drew.

They settled on the couch, Johnny curled up against one side, Drew on the other with Johnny's feet in his lap, on which he balanced his plate, and Johnny bit into his sandwich heartily as the credits started to roll and the opening song played.

 

~*~

 

Even with everything going a lot smoother than expected, Stéphane returned to the apartment in the late evening more exhausted than he was generally used to. The smell of spaghetti and tomato sauce that entered his nose on entrance was unexpected.

"He's back," sounded from the kitchen. "And right on time, too."

"Hey," Stéphane greeted them as he dropped his bag by a chair and gave both Daisuke and Kimmie a surprised look. "What's going on?"

"You hungry?" Kimmie beamed. "We're not the world's greatest cooks, but I think we managed not to completely ruin it. Reading the package label was really helpful! I wouldn't have thought."

Stéphane blinked. "Uhm. Yes. To the first question. I didn't eat yet, but -"

"No buts," Daisuke grinned. "There's enough for all of us. Though of course, you'll be saddled with making dinners more often than we do from now on. We've all seen your skills!"

"Knew there was a catch," Stéphane smiled back. "But thank you."

Kimmie nudged Daisuke with her shoulder. "He is so polite. I like him. You picked well, padawan."

"Shut up and put the plates on the table," Daisuke ordered. "We need to keep this one. If Stéphane runs off, then that's it -we'll never find a good roommate ever again."

Stéphane sat down at the little kitchen table - barely big enough for the three of them to fit, but he guessed they'd make do - and looked at them curiously. "I didn't realize you've been living together for longer."

"Yeah," Kimmie laughed, getting the spaghetti. "You wouldn't know from looking at us, would you? We've been roommates since Daisuke moved in - two years ago, right?"

Daisuke nodded. He stuck out some cutlery at Stéphane and then took his seat. The food smelled good, Stéphane had to admit, especially considering what Kimmie had said about not having a clue about cooking.

He remembered Daisuke mentioning a few courses from this morning and asked, "What are you studying?", taking a careful first bite.

"That's what I keep asking him," Kimmie joked.

"Hah, very funny," Daisuke mock-glared at her. Then he turned to Stéphane. "I'm... it's hard to say, really. I - guess I'm studying at the department for Humanities and Social Sciences. But there are so many interesting things to do and so little time. I'm trying it out. How about you?"

Stéphane felt heat rise to his face. "Acting School."

Kimmie's eyebrows jumped up. "You got into NY Acting School? You must be good. Or... well." She shrugged. "D'you know someone in the business?"

"Ah... no. I guess I got in on merit alone. I did some European Languages and History and worked for good two years at a theater in Madrid."

"Well, they do tend to go for people with experience, especially if your tape was good."

"How do you know so much about it?" Stéphane asked, curious.

Kimmie grinned. "My mother is friends with a lot of actors and performers who graduated from there and many of the teachers. And one of my brothers tried to get accepted and failed spectacularly. It was kind of funny to see him try to get in - he has no talent."

Daisuke apparently knew her brother, since he asked more about him, and the two of them fell easily into a conversation Stéphane was too tired to follow. He ate up, and then excused himself, thanking them for the dinner. He had a long day tomorrow, he wanted to get into bed early, and most importantly he was pretty sure he had an email or two waiting for him.

The water in the shower was ice cold at first, like it had been for the past two days, before it slowly turned warm. It was more than enough time to let his thoughts wander; the soap smelled like honey and milk, the air grew damp and the tension of his body made him feel on edge, teeth clenched. He just wanted to sleep, but his body thought differently, undermining him with tantalizing glimpses of scenes - different shower, different time, dark hair, a glimpse of white teeth behind an amused smile as a mouth merged with his.

His hand closed around his erection, water cascading down his back and he jerked, twice, three times, breathing hard. He didn't want to do this, he knew - it always, always ended up like this, and the image turned into Johnny, head thrown back in laughter, and then in silent gasping as Stéphane remembered touching Johnny's body with his fingertips, gliding over his hips, down his thighs.

He came, moaning into his left arm that was propping him up against the wall, but it was hardly relief. He hadn't jerked off for weeks; he'd thought it'd at least feel good, tainted with sorrow as it was, but it hadn't. Instead he felt hollow, like he'd lost something. At this point, he tiredly thought, it might just as well be his mind.

He got out of the shower, towelled off and tried not to think about it. An hour later, he fell asleep feeling easier, however, because Carolina'd written him to announce she'd been accepted at Turin University, all joy, her happiness shining through in every word. She'd sent pictures from her visit at the university with her brothers, standing side by side, grinning. Antonio had written asking whether he was settling in well, second email in a matter of days. Apparently, Stéphane was expected to answer more quickly there.

He tried not to miss them and not worry too much, not to play too many possibilities out in his head, torturing himself. Maybe... maybe it would be fine.

And at least for that evening, it seemed to work.

 

~*~

 

Watching TV turned into making out before the TV turned into Drew steadily pushing Johnny backwards until he was flat on his back on the couch, with the TV turned off.

Drew's mouth tasted of strawberry tea and grapefruit and Johnny licked his lower lip while moving his hips with little groaning sounds against Drew's to create friction, cock straining against his zipper.

"I - I need -" Drew whispered against his mouth. His hand was under Johnny's shirt, caressing his ribs, thumb flicking over his nipple. "Can I -?"

"Yeah," Johnny moaned. "Please."

Drew smiled, slid down his chest, right hand popping the button on his jeans and pulling them down before he slid it inside Johnny's underwear and stroked his cock once, then again. Johnny bucked off the couch, throwing his head back as a jolt ran up his spine.

And then Drew took it in his mouth, sliding his lips around the head, licking, sucking. Johnny tensed like a spring, fighting to keep the orgasm at bay.

"C'mon," Drew hummed. Johnny's hands clenched in the material of the couch and he squeezed his eyes shut, pleasure racing through his body. "You can come."

"No, I - I want -"

Drew's mouth let his cock pop out again and he smiled, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip. "I'll give you fifteen minutes to catch your breath afterwards," he promised. "And then you can fuck me."

A few seconds later, Johnny orgasmed into Drew's mouth with that image printed into the backs of his eyelids.

 

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

There were prints to be done, a new portfolio due in a few months, studying for his end of term exams and his thesis and Johnny still somehow found the time and, surprising even himself, enthusiasm to get to the Studio on time for his segment.

He didn't expect to find Tessa lurking in the hallway, though Drew had texted him that he'd be waiting upstairs with the team, so finding him with her wasn't a big surprise. Johnny gave her a smile in greeting and reached out his arms to get a hug from Drew, who pecked him on the lips.

"Be prepared for two hours of boredom," Johnny warned, kissing back.

"He's fishing for compliments again," Tessa shot back. "Don't indulge his already big head."

Drew snorted. "It's fine. I have homework assignments to write, I'll find myself a quiet corner."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Johnny asked Tessa, frowning. "You were supposed to be off today, right? Is something wrong with the equipment?"

"There were some minor difficulties with the computers, I fixed everything half an hour ago. Not why I'm here right now, though. I was waiting for you to get here."

"Uhm, okay. Why, what's up?"

Tessa's smile widened and she glanced at Drew before her gaze met Johnny's again. "Does Drew know you're meeting with cute guys on the sly?"

Johnny's eyebrows went up. "Do I have a reputation suddenly?"

Tessa laughed. "No, don't worry."

Drew cocked his head. "Which cute guys are we talking about exactly?"

"There was one here, after you left on Monday. Very polite, very good-looking, charming enough to get Scott to hand out free beers. He was asking for you."

Johnny shrugged wryly. "I don't know anyone like that."

Drew cuffed his shoulder. "Hey!"

"Aside from you," Johnny grinned. "Don't be jealous."

"Do I need to be?"

"No?"

Tessa's eyes shone with mirth. "You're too cute. Anyway, he said his name was 'Stéphane' or something? Which I thought was a little pretentious for a guy with no French accent whatsoever -"

" _What_?"

Drew and Tessa peered at Johnny, surprised. "What did I say?" Tessa asked nonplussed.

Johnny felt the blood leave his face. His stance was suddenly wonky, as if someone had pulled the rug from underneath his feet with a single hard tug. "What - what did he want?"

"You know him?"

"What did he _want_?" Johnny's voice grew sharper.

"He didn't really say. He just looked a bit - you know. Unsure what to do. He seemed kinda lost, so I told him he could come by today to catch you."

"- you _what_?"

"Hey!" Tessa pulled up her shoulders defensively at his tone. "He's not a serial killer, right? He looked like any normal college student. How the hell was I supposed to know something dodgy was going on?"

"An email would have been nice. Shit." Johnny glanced over to Drew, face going from bloodless to blushing in a second. "I - you should - we should maybe - you should go -"

Tessa's eyes widened. "Johnny, what - you're not really fucking around -"

Johnny glared at her. "Even if I was it would be none of your business. But I'm not. It's not like that."

Drew held up his hand for Tessa to shut her up before she could snap back and she subdued, rolling her eyes. Then he turned to Johnny. "Just - don't panic, all right? No one's accusing you of anything. What's going on?"

"It - it's complicated."

"Right. Ex, then."

"Tessa," Drew chastisted, while Johnny whipped around to her, glare growing pronounced.

"Stop assuming things and poking your nose into things that don't concern you," he hissed. "Leave us alone and go make out with Scott, all right?"

Tessa winced back, face drawn. "Fine." She turned quickly and left down the stairs, steaming and humiliated. Everyone knew that crush was still a sore spot with her.

"That was mean," Drew mumbled.

"Yeah, well. She deserved it."

"Did she?"

Johnny turned his glare on him. "Look, let's go in, Matt's probably waiting for me to show up already."

Drew opened his mouth to reply, and that was when the elevator pinged. Johnny felt a shiver go through his body as the door opened, and then a tension settle between his shoulderblades that had nothing to do with the cool breeze rushing through the air from below.

With his usual wonderful timing, Stéphane stepped out of the elevator, looking curious and half-daunted. Johnny tried to look away but couldn't; Stéphane hadn't changed at all, and yet so much. He looked older, his face sharper, his eyes darker and more pronounced as hair fell over his forehead. He looked tired, but when his eyes fell on Johnny, he brightened, the corners of his mouth curling up, almost like it was an automatic reaction beyond his control.

Johnny bit his lip and the need to flee washed over him, pain and fear, like Stéphane was someone to be scared of, which he of course wasn't, but that didn't change _the facts_. And yet, as Stéphane stepped closer, Johnny's feet refused to move, leaden, glued to the ground.

Drew, lovely Drew moved to his side, body warmth tangible through both their clothes, allowing Johnny to breathe again.

"Johnny..." Stéphane said softly. "Hey." His eyes were huge as he took in Johnny's face, scanning his neck, his lips, his hair, a quick up-and-down over his body.

"What -" Johnny cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts to form a sentence, any sentence. "What do you want?" he settled on.

"I have no idea," Stéphane replied, looking thoroughly lost.

Drew by his side moved his weight from one foot to the other. "Johnny..."

"I'm fine," he bit out. But he wasn't glaring at Drew.

"You're angry with me," Stéphane said, blinked once. "You - oh my god, you're really -"

"I'm nothing of the sort. I'm surprised, that's all." There was something in Stéphane's voice that made it imperative that he didn't admit to the tornado of anger rising in his throat. He didn't know why it was there, or how, after all this time, but it was, and it felt like betrayal all over again.

And then Drew put his hand to Johnny's wrist and Johnny twisted it just so their fingers entwined, narrowing his eyes at Stéphane's wince, drawing back from the two of them like he'd been hit.

"I believe introductions might be in order," Johnny said softly, a smile creeping up as the anger vanished. Stéphane's eyes were hard again. He realized he hated it when Stéphane looked at him with that soft look, the one that made him seem all love and caring, because it was wrong, had to be wrong, had to be a lie otherwise he wouldn't have left in the first place, wouldn't have - "This is Drew," he continued, stopping himself from going off on a tangent. "My boyfriend."

Stéphane didn't wince this time. He would again soon, though, if Johnny had his way.

"Drew," he glanced at him, saw Drew's rather stricken look, like he could feel what was coming. He was good like that at reading Johnny. Johnny gesticulated with his right hand at Stéphane. "This is Stéphane. He's the guy I fucked around with in high school."

For a moment, everything was silent, then Stéphane jerked back, eyes glittering with hurt. They both remembered that one.

Johnny smiled, shrugged. That's how it was now.

"You haven't changed at all," Stéphane simply said once he'd collected himself. His gaze travelled to Drew, and he gave a weak smile. "It was nice to meet you." Then he turned around and walked back the way he'd come towards the elevator, and he didn't look back, even when he stood inside, just leaned against the sidepanel, staring at the opposite wall.

The door closed.

Drew yanked his hand out from between Johnny's fingers and took a few steps away from him. "What the hell was that?"

Johnny pressed his lips together and turned on his heel to stalk to the door, throwing it open. "Not now."

"Johnny -"

"I said _not fucking now_."

He felt Drew's incredulous look on his back until Matthew waved to him to keep it down, yattering on about something into the mike. Then the hairs on his neck stopped standing on end and when he glanced back, Drew was no longer there, probably gone, possibly offended. He clenched his fists and wanted to hit himself for being so stupid. Stéphane always brought out the worst in him, somehow. He'd have to apologize for snapping later. But not now.

Matt pressed some buttons, queued some ads and then music and stood up from the chair, stretched, joints creaking. Then he gave Johnny a long stare. "What's wrong with you today?" he finally asked, flicking a strand of hair out of his face as he went past.

Johnny swapped at him like at a bothersome insect. "Stop that. I'm fine."

"Yeah. Sure you are, sweetie."

"Don't call me that, either."

"We're in a mood. Well, you can channel that anger into the waves, it'll make for a good segment, at least." He beamed, waved and left the room, bag slung around his neck.

And that's when it hit Johnny. "Oh, goddamnit," he swore, letting himself fall into the chair and put his forehead to the cool wooden desk-top. Drew'd come to bring him the notes for the show.

 

~*~

 

Stéphane was not in the habit of getting drunk, often or regularly. He'd been drunk a couple times - with friends mostly, and at a party or two, but the difference between being a little tipsy and being _drunk_ became quite clear to him once he was leaning head-first over the toilet bowl, puking his guts out. And he hadn't even gotten laid.

Plus, it was barely eleven pm, which was to say he'd started around five and gone on until he could barely walk. He had no idea how he'd gotten home. He also didn't know who was touching his neck with a cold compress and why it was stinking like hell warmed over from the kitchen, making him vomit even worse. The good thing was, it did help with the pain that seemed to course through his whole body.

"Yeah, go on, have another go," a voice muttered. "This way, you'll get it all out, at least. No poisoning for you, mister."

Daisuke. Great. One week in, and he was making a complete asshole of himself. But at least, Daisuke was being nice about it. He didn't yell, either, which was good, because the headache was splitting. And then his stomach was finally empty. Stéphane choked once more, for the hell of it, bile burning his throat, shuddered and shivered and was done. Or at least, that's what it felt like. He tried getting up.

Daisuke quickly caught him under his arms and held him up, otherwise, Stéphane was fairly sure, he might have landed with a head-dive in the toilet, and that would have been disgusting. Well, more disgusting than what was already happening here. He _really_ didn't like himself very much at the moment.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed," Daisuke said slowly. "Try at least getting your feet underneath you before you do the walking again?"

This time, it worked better. They got to the bed safely and Stéphane let himself fall on his back with a groan, trying hard not to upset his stomach again. Then Kimmie came in with a bowl of... something. He practically felt himself go green in the face.

"Special recipe," she announced gleefully. "Anyone hungover has to drink it. Open up."

"Don't want to."

"C'mon. You feel horrible now, so it can't get any worse, but when it kicks in, you'll be able to sleep without feeling horrible at all."

Daisuke raised his eyebrow at her.

"He doesn't believe you," Stéphane muttered. "Why should I?"

"Because he doesn't drink, so he wouldn't know anyway." She sat on the edge of his bed. "I promise, it'll be okay. We'll even listen to your woes while you go spoon by spoon?"

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Daisuke. Get a towel. He's all sweaty." Kimmie scrunched up her face. "You're all sweaty and you stink. Seriously, where have you been, a run-down brothel?"

"Bar."

"That'd do." She helped him sit up a little and pushed the bowl and spoon into his hands. "Eat, boy. Eat."

"Fine," Stéphane gave in. His stomach protested the smell, but he managed not to let it show. He didn't want to eat anything, least of all this, but he was pretty sure they'd both block his room until he did. And all he wanted right now to be alone and wallow in self-pity and pain.

"No wallowing," Kimmie pointed at his face. "You may share, but no wallowing."

Daisuke nodded. He didn't seem to talk a lot, Stéphane noticed. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Kimmie liked to be a silly chatterbox. Or maybe they'd just found each other complementing and that's why they were such good friends.

He didn't think him and Johnny'd ever complemented each other very well. They'd had differed on all the wrong things, always. And being masochistic probably didn't count as shared pastime.

He took a swallow. Strangely enough, it didn't taste as bad as it smelled. It actually tasted like baked apple and lemon grass, but he thought he would have smelled those ingredients, so he just stayed content with the fact that it didn't make him want to throw up more and took another spoon-full.

When he looked back up, two expectant faces were directed at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You're a roomie now," Daisuke explained, smile blooming. "You're supposed to share."

"But - I don't want to."

"Oh." They exchanged a look. Then they looked back at him. "Really?"

Stéphane shrugged. "Fine. If it'll make you leave me alone. My first big love was this guy from high school, Johnny Weir -"

"Oh my god, Johnny Weir from WFIT?" Kimmie exclaimed.

"... yeah?"

"He is so beautiful. I love him. He's funny, great voice, his segments are _insanely_ popular and he has so much style. He's also in love with Christina Aquilera, and aren't we all? He's gay, though, even has a - oh. Uhm." Kimmie gave a wince, quickly changed the subject. "Do you know if he has a straight twin?"

Stéphane blinked.

"Kimmie," Daisuke warned.

"He has a younger brother," Stéphane offered. "Though I think he's a bit young for you. His name's Brian."

"Already dated a Brian," Kimmie sighed, waving him away. "I'm still not sure if _he_ prefers boys or girls or if he just fucks whoever offers. Slut."

Daisuke cleared his throat.

"Daisuke likes him. Daisuke's taste in men sucks. That's why he stays with the girls, mostly."

"Maybe you should let Stéphane explain?"

"Sure. Go on, Stéphane."

"Was I saying something?" Stéphane frowned. His head was aching less now, but his intenstines felt funny.

"Great first love, Johnny Weir?"

"Uhm. Right. We - senior year, we had a rough time of it, and we broke up at the end, well, I mean, I guess he tried to get back together as we were already broken up for a while and I told him we couldn't ever see each other again and that I was leaving for Europe and then I left and he went to college here."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah. And now I'm back and I knew he was in New York and possibly studying at the fashion institute, but I have no idea what posessed me to -"

"Ohmigod you went to see him. Where?"

"The radio show studio rooms?"

"And what happened?" Kimmie asked, voice concerned. It seemed she had already guessed most of it by herself. It wasn't like it was that hard to figure out, what from his state.

"He pretty much threw his new boyfriend in my face and -" Stéphane pressed his lips together. "That's not even the worst thing. I mean - he's moved on, I get it, it - I didn't expect him to - I mean, I didn't wait, exactly - but then he just called our relationship a - a one-time hook-up, I guess, and that was really mean. And it's the same shit all over again, because that's how it's always been, before, just, he lashes out just to hurt me and why is he like that?"

Kimmie put her head to the side. "He doesn't lash out without reason though, right? I mean, not out of the blue?"

Stéphane swallowed. "I guess when he's hurt or scared or something, but that doesn't make it better, does it, he can't just go around hurting people just because he's been hurt, that's one way to make the world go to hell -"

"I don't think the world needs Johnny Weir's help with that?" Kimmie offered.

"But I don't want him to hurt me when he's upset, I want him to realize he loves me enough that he won't hurt me, no matter what!"

Daisuke looked away, embarrassed.

"And now I've also completely humiliated myself." Stéphane looked at his hands and felt like crying, but bit the tears back and handed the bowl to Kimmie. "Thanks."

"All right?"

"No."

Daisuke cleared his throat. "Maybe - it would be best if we left -"

"Yes, please," Stéphane nodded, going for his covers, shiver taking him. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I just want to sleep." Another shiver hit, and then his stomach contracted hard and he felt like throwing up again.

"Ten minutes of hell and you'll sleep like a baby and wake up refreshed tomorrow, okay?" Kimmie smiled. She grabbed Daisuke's upper arm, pulling him with her. "Get him another blanket, I'll get some water."

Stéphane really hated her for the next ten minutes. But, he had to admit, in the morning there was no hang-over, his head felt fine, and once he got out of the shower, he felt like he hadn't slept this well for years.

 

~*~

 

When Johnny arrived at his own front door, a few hours before Stéphane made it to _his_ front door, the apartment was dark and there was no one moving about. Something felt off about it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He didn't turn on the lights, though, just in case. A tremble of fright took him that someone might be inside. He wondered if he could get to the kitchen fast enough to grab a knife.

But then he chastisted himself not to be silly. There were no burglars in his apartment, and Drew was probably already in bed, which made sense because he had to get up really early the next morning for a class.

He bumped his forehead against the door to the bedroom, which he hadn't realized was closed, and that was when he learned that the doors in their apartment were very leak tight: inside, Drew had a little bedside lamp on and was reading by the light.

"You're still up," Johnny whispered as he hopped onto the bed and went for a kiss. "Hey, baby."

Drew however just gave him a look and put his hand to his face, keeping them two inches apart, scanning his forehead. "You hit yourself."

"Hm-hm. You closed the door. The door's never closed."

"That's because you were not supposed to come in here. You're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"What?" Johnny stared, mouth open.

Drew sat up straighter and put the book down, setting up even more room between them. "I'm mad at you. I'm not going to let you talk to me that way, all right? Not in that language, and not in that tone of voice. And since you're the one who screwed up, you're the one on the couch."

"But - that's not -"

"If I ever do something wrong, I'll take it. But please, let's not have a discussion tonight, because I honestly don't even want to see you right now, and I'm tired. What you did to that other boy was despicable. I've never even seen you that vicious before. I hated it."

"But Drew -"

"Johnny, I'm not kidding. I'm going to throw you out and lock the door if you don't leave."

"Yeah, right." Johnny pushed his hand out of the way when he went for the shoulder this time and merged their bodies together, landing a kiss on his mouth. For a moment, there was resistance, lips pressed together, a struggle, then Johnny's tongue sneaked out and licked and that was all it took, along with a rub of his hips against Drew's.

"I hate it when you do that," Drew said.

"You love it," Johnny grinned at him. "Admit it."

The book landed on the floor with a thud. Drew had Johnny on his back in a second, settling between his legs, grinding down, cock hard in his pyjama pants rubbing against the jeans. Their mouths joined again, Drew's tongue pushing between Johnny's lips as he went for the fly, popping the button, lowering the zipper.

"You want it," he said slowly, kissing down his jaw to his neck, "flip around and let me fuck you. Right now. I'll make it messy and good and I'll give you the best orgasm of your life while I'm inside you."

Johnny moaned a bit, hips bucking up.

"Johnny -" Drew mouthed into his skin. "God, you're so beautiful -" He pushed his hand under the shirt, travelled up the side, hot skin against his cool fingers, feeling the ribs, one, two three, up towards his nipples, his collarbone. "I need -"

Johnny pushed at his shoulder.

"Johnny?" Drew breathed, hands on Johnny's jeans, pulling them down past his hipbones.

"No," Johnny said, pushing again. "Stop it."

Drew's swollen lips formed a thin line as he closed his eyes for a second and backed off, taking his hands off the material, off Johnny's body. "Damnit, Johnny."

"I don't want to," Johnny said, scrambling back and getting his jeans off himself. "I'll blow you, how about that?"

"What the _hell_?" Drew asked, for the probably hundredth time since the first time they'd not had sex. "For fuck's sake, I don't even ask anymore why you keep having trouble with the goddamn sex in this relationship, because it's always the same with you, all you do is make things go your way, and without even giving me a reason or an explanation. And you know what, that _sucks_."

"Drew -"

"Oh, fuck you, Johnny." Drew got off the bed, looking furious and grabbed his clothes off the chair where he'd neatly folded them together. "Have fun alone in your bed. I'm leaving."

"Drew - where - where are you going?" Johnny followed him off the bed.

"Hotel," Drew said sharply. He had his pyjamas off, erection completely gone, pulling his trousers up and throwing on his shirt. He had the jacket in his hand a second later, as well as his wallet. "You don't even bother to apologize, you jackass. So don't bother to call. I'll come back when I feel like it."

Johnny felt his face scrunch as he looked to the floor, pain pulsing through him like a living, breathing creature. The door slammed shut. It was excruciating, the second time today Drew was leaving, and didn't that remind him of someone.

It was all fucking Stéphane's fault. Everything had been going so well until he'd turned up again. Drew had been - it had never bothered - it had _looked_ like it'd never bothered Drew before, any of it, any of what'd made him explode tonight.

Johnny kicked one of the chairs over and felt like screaming. He had no idea what was going wrong, and therefore no idea how to fix it. The sex - so it was hardly ever the kind Drew wanted, but - it had always worked before, distracting, apologizing all in one. Why wasn't Drew _getting_ it anymore?

The apartment was empty now, truly empty, and there wasn't even the frightening impression of a burglar lingering anymore. Johnny went into the kitchen, took out the chocolate chip ice cream they had bought to share in front of the TV this weekend, watching romantic comedies, and dug in. He was going to get fat, but at least then, he'd be fat, mean and boyfriendless and make a package of it.

The thought made him snort, but he wasn't amused at all.

 

*~*

 

 _A few hours before_

 

"Stéphane?"

The boy stopped, a few steps away from the building, turned around.

"It's - Stéphane, right? I just - wanted to see if you were all right." Drew pinked. "You know. He can be pretty -"

"Yeah." Stéphane gave him a questioning look. "There was no need to come after me. I get it. You guys are together now, and he doesn't want to see me." He buried his hands in his pockets and started walked away.

Drew frowned. "Wait. I didn't - I didn't actually mean to follow you, I got furious and walked out and when saw you I thought maybe - maybe you could help me understand. You knew him from before, you might know how he's... the way he is?"

There was a scoffing noise and Stéphane glanced at him like he'd lost his mind. "No one knows why Johnny's the way he is. Or at least, I certainly don't. Maybe his mum does. There _was_ a reason why we broke up, after all."

"What was that?" Drew blurted, and felt himself blush again. "I mean, if you don't mind telling me. I understand it's none of my business."

Stéphane shook his head. "It isn't."

"Oh."

"It's a long story. I don't think we should spend all that much time together, considering."

"So you want him back?"

Stéphane froze. "I - I didn't really - I didn't think that far ahead, I guess."

Drew blinked. "Really?"

"I just wanted to see him. I thought everything else might work itself out. And guess what, it has."

"He didn't mean it the way he said it -"

"Says the expert boyfriend who goes to the ex to get insights into his behaviour."

Drew felt himself draw back, stung. "Fine. I'm sorry for bothering you and holding you up." Apparently, in this case it was less 'opposites attract' and more 'like attracts like'. He hadn't thought he'd be the one catching it from all sides in this little drama, but it turned out he was.

For a second, he thought that might have been really it and Stéphane was just going to shrug and walk, like Johnny did sometimes when he'd done something wrong and didn't want to face up, but instead, Stéphane's face crumpled and he looked drawn and sad and completely heartbroken. The expression was gone on second blink.

"I'm sorry," Stéphane said instead of acknowledging it. "That was a mean thing to say. I didn't mean to get hurtful. I just know that he meant it exactly the way he said it, or if he didn't, he'll only apologize for it if it gains him something anyway, so what's the point in deluding oneself?"

Drew stepped closer. "I guess love does that. Makes one delude oneself."

"I hate blind spots," Stéphane said darkly.

"Well, I guess ignorance is sometimes bliss despite everything."

"Then you should have a long and successful relationship with Johnny," Stéphane commented. He sounded incredibly bitter.

"Will you tell me more about him some day?"

"Why are you asking me for information about him? Aren't you the one in a relationship with him?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But?"

"He doesn't talk about himself. I - I've picked up some things, but he never - when I ask him something serious, he evades or starts joking around and being silly or ignores the question and it's so freakin' hard to learn the most mundane things about him! I hardly know anything about his family or his home town, and - I see how he is around other people, but it's never enough. It's been over two years now! How can I not know almost anything about him?"

Stéphane looked away. "There's nothing I can do about that. If he doesn't want you to know, it's not my place to tell you anything."

Drew breathed out, frustrated. "You're just not telling me anything because you want him back and you're afraid if you do I might - something. I don't know. Why did you even come here? Just to upset things?"

"Don't be stupid," Stéphane replied. "There's no way to get Johnny Weir to do anything he doesn't want to do, and that includes him loving someone. And as we saw right now, he hates me, so. No need to feel threatened."

"Just don't," Drew said. "Just stay away. Then everything'll go back to normal."

"Nice normal you have there," Stéphane smiled, all wrong, distorted. Then he hurried away, down the street, vanishing between people passing them left and right. Nobody paid attention to them. Just two guys talking on the sidewalk outside school.

Drew stared after him, stomach churning. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and walked away in the other direction, just to walk, feel his feet moving underneath him. He felt like he needed new shoes. But really, any excuse to go shopping would do, or at least that was what Johnny always said.

*~*


	3. Chapter 3

September dawned with wet leaves and drizzle rain, and Johnny found himself wishing it was later in the year, maybe November, so he could go home, have Thanksgiving with his family. He missed Brian, and his mom.

Drew came back, of course, but he stayed pissy and irritable and there was no sex anymore at all, not for two weeks or so.

Johnny didn't know how to fix that. He just knew he had to invest more time in his relationship, or they'd end up broken and hurt and he was that already anyway. He didn't think he could take it again. He didn't want to lose Drew, not after all this time. They were friends. He couldn't afford to lose another friend, especially one who really, really liked him, and even loved him, just the way he was.

They went skating together on the month's first weekened; there was a truckload of work waiting for Johnny, but he put it all aside, told himself he'd be able to catch up soon enough. Now was not the time for everything else, now was the time to take some decisive action.

"Will you come with me?" he asked in a small voice, and he knew he was begging, but it wasn't so bad when Drew's hard expression softened and he nodded.

Of course Drew was coming. It was how they'd met, over two years ago, in Johnny's freshman year, one place Johnny'd been spending most his free time at. It made them both feel happy inside, thinking about that day, or so Johnny hoped. It made _his_ skin grow tingly, pleasantly warm, even when it was cold from the ice.

The first time at the rink, Johnny'd only gone because it had been a promise of some distraction from the constant hard work and wallowing over a broken heart. If he was completely honest with himself, he'd gone to find someone to maybe hook up with, if nothing else; of course, it was never quite so easy. He'd seen Drew do some lifts with a girl and he'd been mesmerized. He could do a few jumps, but nothing exciting like Drew could. He hadn't known how to catch his attention and ask the questions he wanted.

He hadn't needed to. Drew'd come over when he'd been done, beaming and joking and tangling Johnny into a conversation during which he'd learned Drew was a business student (which had cracked Johnny up because Drew looked nothing like he'd have imagined a business student), had been skating pairs for years now and had even won some competitions.

It had made Johnny envious over the opportunities Drew'd had that he himself had missed. He was so sure that if he'd just started a few years earlier himself...

Well, they'd become friends fast, meeting up quite often, even outside the rink at some point. They'd just clicked. Found an apartment together. And then the kissing and touching and - Johnny took Drew's hand on the way to the rink and held it tight and stared into the distance until he felt Drew squeeze back at long least. It wasn't much, but he felt it was a start. He could work with that.

Of course, with his luck, the first thing he saw when he was standing on the ice, Drew twirling him around with a speed that made him wheeze, was Stéphane, out of the corner of his eye, and he almost made them both tumble over and fall onto each other, dangerous and brainless and making Drew look at him worriedly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice soft.

It made Johnny's heart beat quicker, pleasure flowing through his veins. "I'm fine," he replied and held out his arms for Drew to give him a hug.

It took Drew half a minute of staring into Johnny's face, just scanning his frozen lips, looking into his eyes searchingly. But he must have forgiven, a little bit, because he chewed his lip and skated into the embrace and picked him up, spinning him around _more_ , and Johnny pressed his face into Drew's neck and breathed in, relieved.

When he looked around afterwards, skimming the crowd for the familiar face, he didn't see Stéphane anywhere.

 

~*~

 

The fifth time this happened, it was good two weeks later. He'd met with Drew for a cup of coffee at Starbucks a few streets away from Drew's school building, when out of the corner of his eye, just as he was sipping his lowfat frappucino, listening to Drew outline his newest project, the familiar floppy hair walked past the window they were sitting close by.

Of course Johnny knew there was no way Stéphane would even know where they were or that they went here unless he'd been stalking them for the last month. Which he hadn't been. He hadn't even come to the studio again, he hadn't talked to any of Johnny's other friends and there had been no message from him since that meeting.

But it had been him, Johnny could have sworn - he jumped off his seat, interrupting Drew in mid-word and hastened out, into the cool afternoon air, without his jacket, looking hastily after the figure. But there was no one who looked even remotely like Stéphane, just a woman with a child, a boy and girl walking hand in hand, a businessman coming towards him, pushing past him into the coffee shop.

He was going crazy. He was seeing things - not things. Stéphane. Everywhere. And it was driving him mad. He returned inside, rubbing his head, trying to make sense of it. There was no way it was real. His mind couldn't start playing tricks like that on him, it was not the time and place. Now, or ever.

"What's going on?" Drew asked, cocking his head, gazing at him over the rim of his cup, looking like he was deciding whether to be mad or amused. There was something sharp in his eyes.

"It's nothing, I just thought..."

"Thought what?"

"I thought I saw something."

"Something that made you jump up and run outside like a crazy person?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Johnny shrugged, sheepish. "Sorry."

Drew shook his head. "What was it?"

"Huh?"

"What did you see?"

"Oh... uhm. Nothing much."

"Yeah." Drew smiled bitterly. "Of course not."

"Drew -"

Drew sighed. "C'mon. Let's go home."

"No, I want - I want to hear what you were saying before. About your project. Please, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset!"

"I'm not upset."

"You look upset." Johnny bit his lip.

"I'm just disappointed and frustrated because you're not telling me things. Again. We had that talk. I want you - I guess I _need_ you to tell me things, sometimes, just so I know that you still like having me around." Drew gave him a sad look. "Sometimes, it's like you don't even care if it's me or anyone else sitting here."

"I just don't like to tell people things about me," Johnny said, insistent.

"I'm not _people_."

"I know. Of course you aren't. I just..." Johnny looked away, playing with his plastic cup. "I can't."

When he glanced back, Drew wasn't looking at him, he was looking out the window, watching people pass by, eyes jumping over them, one after the next, never losing sight. He didn't say anything anymore and they sipped their coffees until they were done. Then they went home.

 

~*~

 

The not-saying-anything held on until an hour or two after they were home; there was only so much not-saying-anything Johnny could take. It wasn't even silent treatment. Silent treatment, Johnny could deal with, because that was childish and they both knew it, especially Drew, who always tried to be as mature as he could be without acting like a stuck-up adult.

But for silent treatment, Drew had to be mad, or upset, and he wasn't. He even smiled at Johnny now and then and warmed his feet when Johnny got cold sitting on the couch, designing a new cocktail dress for his portfolio, while Drew read in his study book and did some calculations he'd probably been assigned as homework. Still, usually there was a word or two to go with either of those.

Finally, when he was out of ideas and couldn't think of any more places to add fur, he put his drawing board down and pulled in his feet, changing over onto his knees before leaning over and kissing the corner of Drew's lips.

"I'm sorry," he added.

"Hm-hm," Drew replied and returned the kiss sweetly before turning away his head and focussing back on his equations.

"Seriously."

"Hm-hm."

"Drew."

Drew looked up, frowning. "Not now, all right? I'm busy. I'm sure it's not so important that it can't wait."

"But -"

"And stop trying to seduce me. We'll have sex later. Preferably in bed. Can you turn up the heater a bit? I'm getting cold too."

Johnny stared at him incredulously.

Drew rolled his eyes. "What did you want to hear from me? When was the last time you've told me anything that actually mattered? I've got work to do. You refuse to tell me things, and you've been jumpy and sullen and miserable for weeks now. What do you think how I'm going to act? Screw around with you until it all goes away? I'm not just with you for the sex, all right?" He smiled wryly, because _what sex_?

"I know you care about me," Johnny ground out, ignoring the unspoken words. "It's not about that."

"What is it about?"

Johnny looked away.

"Then as I said, I'm busy -"

"Fine. Fine, I'll tell you, but you're not going to like it. You're going to get upset and angry at me and you'll storm out again and -"

"- don't be melodramatic. I did that once, and only because you were treating me like shit. If you do that again, you're damn right I'll leave again. But anything else, I think I'm old enough to deal with, don't you think?"

Johnny swallowed. "I've been seeing him everywhere."

"What?" Drew blinked. "Who?"

"Stéphane. I just - sometimes, I think I see him, just in a crowd or - or outside a coffee shop or just standing around, and he's never there when I look properly, but it's driving me insane!"

"But he's not really there? Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Johnny shrugged. "And why would he be there anyway? It's the strangest places. I just - I don't want to see him! I don't even want to think about him, but..."

Drew looked at him, and Johnny could see it was taking him some effort to stay calm and detached. "It looks like you do want to see him."

"I do not."

"Your brain wouldn't make you see him everywhere if you didn't," Drew pointed out. "And from the impression I got of him, he doesn't strike me as a creepy stalker. Actually..."

"What?"

Drew shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" Johnny repeated, narrowing his eyes.

"I caught up with him, back when you - ah, introduced us? We had a little talk. He... seemed inclined to stay away all by himself."

"What? Why?"

Drew bit his lip. "He thinks you hate him?"

"I - I don't - I don't think that's - that is not what I said," Johnny finally stammered.

"So you don't hate him?"

"I don't _like_ him anymore, if that's what you're asking."

Drew snorted. "That is not what I asked."

"I just don't know what to do. I can't just let it go, because it's obviously not letting _me_ go, but I don't want to make things worse and I was a real bitch to him and - and you."

"Me what?"

Johnny shifted back and a few inches away from him, rubbing his thighs. "We didn't just fuck in high school."

"I... was rather able to deduce that from his expression," Drew said gently.

"We were best friends, for forever, before we got together."

"Oh."

"Well, we never really - we didn't really - I mean. There was some stuff. I did some bad things, and he did some - we both fucked up. He just left, though, in the end. He said he never wanted to see me again and went to fucking Europe and I was." Johnny flushed and stared at the floor. "You don't want to know about that."

Drew grabbed his hand. "I want to know everything about you. You know that."

"Fine." Johnny gave a harsh laugh. "I fucked my way through town, I pissed everyone off, I almost destroyed my relationship with my mom, I hated on my dad, I - Brian didn't talk to me for months." He didn't want to say why. He still couldn't believe he'd done that. "I came here and I just - I stopped everything and was a wreck for a while."

"You got your heart broken."

Johnny laughed, cutting. "To be fair, I think I broke his first."

"He shouldn't have left."

"I shouldn't have - it doesn't matter now. I don't get it. Why would he just turn up like that? Like everything's all right. I just - I thought I wasn't seeing right when - and he looked -"

Drew raised his hand and touched his jaw, gently caressing his cheek. "It's all right. It's all fine. C'mon. Don't cry, okay? There's no need to get worked up about it."

Johnny sniffed and nodded, pressing his lips together. "You're right. I'm being a big crybaby."

"That's not what I meant." Drew smiled when Johnny pressed his face into the warmth of his hand and pulled him close, hugging him tight. "I just - there's no need to get worked up about it because you could just - call him. Ask him what you want to know. It might help settle your mind?"

"I couldn't," Johnny mumbled into his shoulder. "I hate him."

Drew snorted in laughter. "I thought you didn't hate him?"

"I don't like him. At all."

"He was your best friend."

Johnny mumbled something incoherent that was too low for Drew to hear, which he realized because he lifted his mouth a bit and repeated, "I don't want you to have to worry."

"As long as it's just friendship, I - well, I would wonder, sometimes, I guess, but you've never, you know. Before. Right?"

"No. And I love you." Johnny sniffled a bit more. "I know I never say it enough, but I do. You're the most brilliant boyfriend I've ever had."

Drew smiled into his hair. "That's good to know. See, that goes a long way to reassuring me that there'd be nothing wrong if you repaired at least a little of your previous friendship."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I can't call him, though." Drew ran his hand over his back, making Johnny purr a little before he moaned. "I... could write an email, I guess? Just - just to see if we can meet, talk a little?"

"Sounds good to me. And if he doesn't want to, at least you'll know for sure he's not stalking you."

"Now you're making fun of me," Johnny accused.

"Just a little."

"Not. Fair."

"And I love you, too, you know that, right?"

Johnny nodded hastily and lifted his face again, mouth half-open, eyes a little wet. Drew lowered his own and placed his lips upon Johnny's, kissing him, their tongues touching. Johnny could feel relief course through Drew's body, tension leaving him slowly, and he thought that this hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be.

He'd told more than he'd wanted to, in the end, but it... somehow it felt good to have Drew know this, to have it off his chest. Now he wouldn't have to worry what Drew'd say if he did ever chose to contact Stéphane. He knew he had Drew's blessing, as long as it stayed purely friendly, and he knew that it would never again be more than that. He didn't think he could give that much again.

The kisses deepened, better than they'd been for a while despite Drew forgiving him, like the connection was back, like something that'd been missing was linking them again, making them work. He threw his leg over and settled his knees on both sides of Drew's thighs, smiling into his mouth.

 

~*~

 

There was no more alcohol for Stéphane. There was also, he decided firmly, no more thinking about Johnny or thinking about sex with Johnny or, god forbid, meeting up with Johnny.

Actually, there was no alcohol, sex _or_ fun for Stéphane anymore for a while, because in the first few weeks of acting school, there were seminars and hours of acting practice, the basics, and basics in this case meant exactly what it said - the skills of facial and body expression, evocation of emotion, speaking - Stéphane hadn't realized until now that he'd hardly played any roles which required him to put a lot of effort into creating voices for characters. He realized it was harder than it sounded.

He studied Adler and Strasberg and Constantin Stanislavski's 'realistic acting' theory, he learned text by heart only to forget it five minutes later to clear his head for the next fifty pages.

He learned how to hit a mark and how to deal with a camera in his face 24/7. Worse, because it was a rookie's camera most of the time; he hadn't had any TV experience while working at the theater. He wanted to stay there, but he still thought learning to adapt to new situations couldn't hurt. Variety was supposed to be the spice of life, after all.

It took his mind off of things. Which was good, very good, because he badly needed his mind taken off of things for him, otherwise he was fairly sure they'd stray to less favourable things and he was trying to avoid thinking about any of those.

And then, of course, came the email, Johnny with his usual perfect timing, and all of Stéphane's hard-earned focus and attention to discipline fell together into a tiny puddle of frenzy. He sat before the screen for a good hour, trying to understand. His mind was racing, formulating theory after theory after scenario after scenario as he tried to make rational sense of why Johnny would conact him.

Why Johnny would contact him now, weeks after, just as Stéphane was gathering his bearings again, as he was starting to _forget_. It had worked once, after all. Work always helped. Stéphane knew he could forget again, if he just... pushed it away far enough. He could forget this one, go back to remembering all the good things and just -

It wasn't a long email. It was an email to his school account, which meant Johnny hadn't bribed any of Stéphane's close friends for the private data yet. It also - Stéphane re-read the line, swallowing - dared to asked for _active participation_ on Stéphane's part, almost like Johnny knew once Stéphane decided to take that step, he would be gone all over again.

No, he revised as he re-read, again. Not almost. Johnny knew. They'd spent all their teenhood getting to know one another. Of course Johnny knew, and unlike Stéphane, he preferred it this way, always had, getting people to come to _him_.

 _'Stéphane - if you want, we could meet up at the little coffee place just off 7th Avenue next Monday? I'll wait there around six pm, I go there sometimes after my segment on the show's over. It would be nice if we could... talk. A little bit? - Johnny.'_

And once more, Stéphane was the one who would have to take that conciliatory step together. Johnny could have come meet Stéphane after a seminar, could have - it was easy enough to find out Stéphane's home address. He could have come here, knocked politely, announcing himself beforehand. But Stéphane wanted this talk. And Johnny knew he wanted this talk, and it would be on Johnny's terms, that much had always been clear.

Maybe it would bring some closure to both of them, maybe that was what Johnny wanted, because Stéphane could imagine nothing else, after the way he'd reacted to Stéphane on first sight.

He remembered Drew's words, of course. 'Stay away'. He should, he knew he should. It was foolish and he was acting like a love-struck idiot following the call, deaf and blind and possibly numbed in ways he didn't want to think about. And yet.

He closed the laptop and got up from his bed, suddenly restless. He needed to walk or talk or... do something. Bake, maybe. He wandered out into the kitchen, where Kimmie was drinking tea, doing a crossword puzzle, and he thought, this would do.

"You look like someone with a plan," she announced and grinned. "River in Rome with five letters?"

"Tiber," Stéphane replied, smiling back and started looking for the ingredients. "And don't ask me how I know. I've been there."

"Lucky bastard." Curious glance. "What are we making, then?"

"Don't know yet," Stéphane announced. "Possibly pancakes. Or chocolate chip cookies."

"How about you teach me about the cookies while I try not to ruin the pancakes?"

And there was a deal he could live with.

 

~*~

 

Johnny hadn't seen Meryl near the studio rooms for quite some time. This, he considered after entering and seeing her leaning over Tessa's shoulder, laughing quietly and pointing something out on the screen, was probably just as well. Tessa was after all still mad at him, not that big a surprise, maybe, since he hadn't apologized to her and they had missed each other multiple times in the past weeks more intentionally than accidentally.

Apparently, Meryl was not happy with him either, which he noted when they both looked up at the door clicking shut behind him and she narrowed her eyes at him, glaring. This, Johnny concluded, was not a good thing. For one, Meryl might have looked all fragile and tiny and quiet, but most people who knew her, knew not to underestimate the painfulness of her wrath. For another, he really shouldn't piss off his work-pals.

"Hi girls," he greeted, ignoring the glowering as well as he could. They couldn't keep it up forever, right? Especially if he used the puppy-eyes on them?

Meryl's glare shifted and drifted off towards the amused. "You are such an asshole," she said.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Johnny held up his hands. "I can't help it."

Tessa snorted. "Yeah. Innate prattishness. Must be located on the y-chromosome."

"And who's being insulting _now_?"

"I'm merely stating a fact," Tessa pointed out.

Meryl placed a hand on her neck to shut her up. "Are you ready to do your part, Johnny?" she asked him instead. "We've been waiting to get out of here, as it's such a nice day and all."

Johnny rolled his eyes. It was raining buckets outside. "Is nobody here aside from me?" That would be boring, during the ad breaks and the music. What with the way they were acting all touchy, they'd probably been making out in phases. He sighed, wishing Drew was there.

"Charlie's on after you, his class ends before five. He'll probably be here early, he said he wouldn't go home anymore before," Meryl said. She was frowning. "How's Drew?"

"Fine," Johnny said quickly. "Why?"

"No reason." She shrugged. "He seemed distracted in class yesterday. Maybe you should do something nice for him, the poor guy has been looking like death warmed over for weeks."

Johnny racked his brain until he had to admit to himself that he couldn't remember. "You guys have a class together?" he gave in.

Tessa snorted. "Yeah. _Surprise_."

"Hey!"

Meryl gave them both sharp looks, then turned to Johnny. "He has an elective in cultural anthropology? Human behavioral ecology? We'll be doing a presentation together after Christmas? He didn't tell you?"

"Maybe he did," Johnny admitted. "Sometimes, when he talks about these things..." he shrugged. "It's not like it's a topic that has me dying from the glamour, all right?"

Meryl glared. "It's a very interesting topic, and essential to understanding -"

"All right. I get it. I'm sorry I insulted your love-affair of choice -"

"And fashion is for losers."

"It is not!"

"And it has no foundation in an actual every-day person's life -"

"What!"

Tessa dissolved in giggles. "She's yanking your chain, Weir. Close your mouth."

Johnny settled more firmly on his chair and swivvelled to face the mike, no longer talking to them. They were stupid and silly. "I don't like you anymore," he proclaimed, holding up his hand towards them as if one of them'd opened her mouth to reply. "Do not disturb me, for I am very busy."

They giggled some more and out of the corner of his eye as he prepared the settings for the next two hours he would be here, he saw them leave, hand in hand, Meryl leaning into Tessa, whispering something to her as they walked.

 

~*~

 

At six, Johnny was sitting at one of the little corner tables in the very first café he'd found when he'd started at the college, and till today one of his favourite places that wasn't Starbucks. Five past, he got his coffee and took a sip, half-burning his lips on the hot liquid. His stomach was growing heavy with anticipation and fear that Stéphane might just... not come. He didn't want to think about it, but slowly, the doubt started creeping in.

He hadn't written back. Maybe the email address had been wrong after all. Maybe Stéphane never checked his official mailbox. Maybe he'd never even received it. Maybe it had been a mistake to write him in the first place.

Ten past, Johnny didn't want to see Stéphane anymore. It had been a stupid idea. What would they even talk about? They'd left on a disastrous note both times they'd been in each other's company after their break-up. Stéphane probably hated him. Johnny wasn't sure whether he hated Stéphane, but he -

Another jingle, another customer, Johnny's chin rocked up. It wasn't Stéphane. Twelve past six. The minutes crawled along. Stéphane was _late_. Before, back when they'd - Johnny'd have simply picked up his cell, written a text, possibly with some dirty innuendo added in for good measure. But he didn't even have Stéphane's number anymore. He'd deleted everything, purged Stéphane from his life after he'd realized that thinking about Stéphane was what set him off, what made him act unpredictable and irrational.

The door jingled. An elderly couple entered, sat a few tables away from Johnny. The woman gave him a small smile in 'good day'. He nodded his head, forcing his lips to curl into a smile he doubted looked any more real than her face. He realized his hand was gripping his cup so hard he was threatening to break it and loosened his fingers. They were reddish from the heat. He hadn't even felt the pain.

Twenty past, the waitress returned to his table and asked him, friendly, if he was getting something else. Something to eat, maybe. Johnny shook his head. "I'll probably go home in a few minutes," he said. "I'll pay at the front before I leave, okay?"

"That's where I'll wait, then," she smiled and left him to it. He took out his cell and thought about Drew, who was going to be home around seven. If he left now, he could be home early enough to start dinner. They hadn't eaten together at their own kitchen table in a while, they could make spaghetti with tomato sauce and lick dessert off each other's bodies and - he started typing, his stomach unclenching. They could just spend a fun evening together again. There had been too few of those lately.

Another jingle sounded, and of course, he couldn't not look. Two people had entered, one of whom headed immediately to the bar. The other lingered, stood still for a moment just past the entrance, looking around.

Johnny didn't need to see the face to recognize Stéphane - the hair, the posture, the oh-so-familiar body were unmistakable. He hid the cell in his palm and closed it. No text for Drew today. With a little bad temper, he might still be out of here in barely minutes though.

Stéphane caught sight of him in the second the thought flashed through Johnny's mind, and their eyes locked. A blink later, Johnny looked away, breaking eye-contact. He didn't want that; he had no idea what he wanted. To talk, mainly. Get it all out of his system so he could go back to Drew and fuck his brains out.

"Sorry I'm late," Stéphane said when he was close enough for Johnny to inhale his scent, vanilla and cookies, like he'd been in a bakery recently. Like he was carrying them along wherever he went. He placed his bag against his chair, sitting down, but he didn't take off his jacket. He was being careful, Johnny realized. Anticipating a brawl on first words.

Johnny raised his chin. "It's fine. What'd you want to drink?"

"What's good?"

"Depends on what you like."

Stéphane pressed his lips together. "Fine. Give me a second. Do you want anything as well?"

"I'm set."

Stéphane accepted that, got up, walked to the bar, exchanged a sentence with the waitress, then returned. He looked... calm. Very collected, like he was expecting Johnny to try and shake him. Like he was _prepared_ for it.

Johnny took another sip. His cup was almost empty. He suddenly didn't want to stay any longer. He had no idea what he'd hoped he'd get out of this meeting, but this - this awkward, punishing silence wasn't it.

"Why did you write me?" Stéphane finally asked. His cappucino arrived. It had chocolate sprinkles on it. They seemed more interesting to him than looking at Johnny while he talked.

"I don't know. I just - I need to move on. I wanted to tell you that."

Stéphane blinked. "You couldn't have moved on without requesting me to this... audience, or whatever this is supposed to be?"

"Don't be an ass, it's nothing of the sort. They just sell good drinks here, that's why I picked it."

"Do keep insulting me," Stéphane dared him. "You'll be moving on with a broken nose."

"Oh, physical violence. Classy."

"Figure of speech."

"Really."

Stéphane glared. "Get to the point."

Johnny swallowed, and then his shoulders dropped and he looked away, to the other people sitting together, chatting quietly, to the single figures who still looked happier than he felt surrounded by people who claimed to love him. Possibly, Johnny thought, he was just hopeless. All battle went out of him. "I don't _want_ to fight," he pressed, voice raw. "It's not like I take some depraved sort of pleasure from us tearing at each other."

"I wasn't going to fight," Stéphane said coolly. "You've always been the one to hand out the first strike, remember? A month ago, I was ready to - to build some bridges. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Just because of one thing I said -"

"Not because of the words. Because of why you said them. You just can't change, can you."

"You shouldn't want me to fucking _change_ ," Johnny hissed, hitting the table with his flat hand, lucky that Stéphane had sipped the top off his drink, or else it would have splattered all over his lap and the table surface. "You're such a sanctimonious asshole, you keep telling me all about how good and holy you are and how bad and evil I was for hurting you, but guess what, if you really loved me, you wouldn't want me to change all the time!"

Stéphane sat back, flush high on his cheeks, eyes watering.

"Shit." Johnny rubbed his thighs and glared at his cup. " _Shit_."

"That's what I made the decision for, wasn't it," Stéphane said, voice wavering. He didn't seem very stable. Johnny wasn't used to seeing Stéphane this close to tears all the time. It was like some emotional dam had broken while he'd been gone. When before, Stéphane had hardly ever shown what he'd felt, not this openly, it was all over his face now, all out there for Johnny to see.

"What?" he asked, uncertain.

"I hated you for doing that shit to me. So much. But that's not why we broke up, I mean, not all the reason I did break us up and why I didn't want to get back together. I need you to be different from what you are, and you can't be, and I love you -" Stéphane gave a choked laugh. "- loved you enough not to keep asking you to change. So I went away. I thought it would be better for both of us."

"Because 'sometimes love is not enough'?" Johnny snorted, loudly. "You are such a cliché."

Stéphane just stared. "Because loving someone and getting from them what one needs are different things. And sometimes, you can't have both."

"So instead, you break some hearts and go to Europe," Johnny said, bitter. "Good plan."

"I should have stayed away," Stéphane said, letting go of his cup to get up.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't go."

"Why not? All you do is be cynical. If it was a disease, humanity would be extinct by now."

"I'll stop. Just - just at least tell me how it was."

"What?"

"Europe. Was it worth it?"

Stéphane settled down. He looked completely flabberghasted. "You want to know?"

"Is it that big a surprise? I've never been, and I probably won't get to go for a long time. New York is the farthest I've ever been, where Europe's concerned."

"I - don't even know where to start."

"At the beginning would be good," Johnny offered. "With the cities you saw, or - or the people you met, or what you did. I don't mind. Just tell me about it."

He didn't even know why he wanted to know, and Stéphane looked like he was wondering the same thing. But maybe it wasn't so much Europe, or the information, just hearing the sound of Stéphane's voice again, talking to him about these things, which was... nice. Soothing. It reminded him of back when they used to be friends. They'd always told each other stories. Sleep-overs where he'd not once fallen asleep to the babbles, up and down of syllables.

Stéphane licked his lips, but finally he nodded. "I was - in quite a few places, actually," he started. "I arrived in Madrid where my aunt picked me up, you know, the one I stayed with for a while before I found my own place from where to get to university. And I spent some time in Portugal - some of my family lives there still, and Italy, where - my - a friend lives. And I visited Germany, France, Russia just shortly, Greece. That's all, I think. I have tons of pictures. Maybe..." he trailed off. Johnny knew what he'd been about to say. He had no idea what to answer, so he just smiled for him to go on.

Seven o'clock passed, another half an hour before Stéphane was done telling stories about university life and friends and Johnny still felt like there had been nothing really personal about any of them, just some tales you had to tell strangers about your crazy adventures without having to share intimate details of your life.

The realization hurt. He tried to keep it off his face, but something must have shown because Stéphane interrupted himself and grasped for some conversational straws before finally asking, "Are you in touch with anyone from - before?"

Johnny laughed, for the first time a freed, amused laugh, a real one that he couldn't quite suppress. "You mean Evan."

Stéphane looked embarrassed. "I didn't mean -"

"Yes you did. You're such a bad liar."

"Are you?"

"Yes, actually." Johnny smiled. "We email a lot. Sometimes we even phone."

"Oh. But you have Drew -"

"Well. We're - sort of friends, I guess? You could say?"

Stéphane glanced away. "Funny how that turns out."

"He broke up with Tanith," Johnny offered, in order to draw the conversation away from the gloomy thoughts. "Guess he's doing the college thing now."

"College thing?"

"Dating around. Discovering your bisexual side. You know."

"He always liked you a bit too much to be completely straight."

"Or maybe I'm just that likeable."

Stéphane snorted. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you are."

Johnny felt himself flush and couldn't for the world of him find a way to respond to that without embarrassing them both even more. So he just sat there, fidgeting with his cup, waiting for Stéphane to drink up, and desperately searched for a topic that was 'safe'. There weren't many. Everything was somehow touched in some way by their messes.

"It's late," Stéphane finally said, conversationally, like he half didn't want to point it out and was sorry for having to.

Johnny was glad he didn't just say out loud that they weren't working. That they maybe never would again. The thought burned in his brain like a wildfire. "I should go home," he agreed. "I should - Drew's - waiting. Probably."

Stéphane's wince was almost unnoticeable. Johnny pretended to both of them he hadn't seen. He felt like it was easier to deceive himself than Stéphane, at this point.

"We should - again."

"Definitely."

"Some day."

"Yes. Maybe."

"I'll just -"

"Get - get home safe."

"I will."

Stéphane left a good bit of coffee in his cup without a look back and some money on the table, jacket tightly clutched in his arm, and Johnny was grateful to note it was enough for his and a tip, but not for Johnny's as well. He had no idea what he'd have done if it had been.

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about a great many things as he sat there for another five minutes, head swirling.

 

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _see me then  
>  investing so much  
> in you_  
> ~ [Good Times Gonna Come, Aqualung (right-click, open in new window)](http://www.box.net/index.php?rm=box_v2_mp3_player_shared&single_file=1&node=f_205443718)

Classes got canceled on the bridge-over from September to October because of another Jewish holiday Johnny couldn't remember the name of. He was very grateful to the Jews. It gave him time to catch up on his work.

While he wrote his homework assignment, sitting in the living room with his notebook on his knees, he couldn't help but half-listen with a smile to Drew kidding around in the kitchen with his big sister. She didn't come by often as she was living near both their parents in Alaska. Johnny knew enough about Drew's family to realize that Drew loved her immensely, and not only for stepping in her father's footsteps to take over the company they owned, a job which Drew had never wanted and would have hated to be forced into.

Nancy was funny and intelligent and so much like Drew that Johnny sometimes thought if he'd been straight, he'd probably fallen in love with _her_ instead of Drew. He might have still fallen for Drew, though.

With an inward laugh at himself, he shook his head and deleted the last sentence he'd typed, because it made no sense whatsoever.

Half an hour later, there was the scent of cake coming from the kitchen and Nancy surprised him by shoving a plate full of little chocolate brownies under his nose. Her dark eyes were twinkling.

"Thanks," he said, taking one. "Everything okay in the kitchen?"

"It didn't explode, if that's what you're asking," she replied, turning her head just as Drew followed into the room, looking sheepish. "Or not much anyway."

"I'm not cleaning up after you," Johnny pointed out. "I might be obsessed with cleaning, but not if I know the perpetrators of the mess!"

Drew grinned and bounced onto the couch next to him, pulling him close, kissing his temple. "I'll do it, don't worry. How's your homework?"

"Not spectacular, but it could be worse. Are you guys done?"

Nancy nodded. "I need to get going soon, so."

"You just got here yesterday," Johnny said. "I thought you were staying longer?"

"I had a work-related thing last night, but yes, dad's expecting me back home this evening already, and the plane's booked. I'm glad I got to meet you again though, Johnny. It's always nice to see you. Sorry we didn't have time to properly talk."

"Yeah." He understood. She hadn't seen Drew in months, after all. They had a lot of things to talk about, especially face-to-face, which they did rarely enough. And Johnny didn't really know her all that well anyway.

"Still, maybe we'll see each other for Thanksgiving, right? If you decide to visit us for once."

"I'll - think about it," Johnny promised.

Drew rose back to his feet, squeezed his hand shortly. "I'm not taking the keys, I'll just see her out quickly, so don't go anywhere, all right?"

"Where would I go, exactly?"

"I don't know, do I? You might decide you need to go midnight-shopping suddenly."

Johnny gave him a long look.

"All right, all right. I'll be back in five minutes." Drew grinned and they left, still talking, almost like they'd never been interrupted, "... so when the guy caught them out on the embezzlement, they just offed him? That sounds too much like an action movie to me."

"Welcome to Alaska," Nancy replied with a snort, her voice slowly fizzling out. "There was an investigation and apparently, the internet... - good for _something_... - because..."

The door clicked shut after them. Johnny smiled and turned back to his assignment. True to his words, Drew returned a few minutes later, looking wind-blown and red-nosed, cold pouring off of him. He was also dripping with rain and made a beeline for the bathroom to get a towel. Johnny saved the document, shut down the notebook and put it away before he went into the kitchen to make some hot tea for both of them. He was fairly sure Drew would appreciate the warmth.

"You're precious," Drew indeed praised when he entered the kitchen to find the cups and plates with the still-warm cake waiting for him. Nancy'd taken a bit of it, but there was still enough for them to enjoy in the next two or three days.

"Rental car?" Johnny asked, nodding out the window.

"She's getting herself to the airport, yeah." Drew took a swallow and leaned back in his chair. "Thanks for - giving us a bit of space."

Johnny smiled impishly. "Am I still supposed to be giving you space _now_?"

"Why, what else would you have in mind?" Drew laughed.

"How about this?"

Their bodies fit together nicely as Johnny slid onto Drew's lap, closing his legs behind the back of the chair before they kissed, mouths merging together. Drew opened under his assault, let him in and then kissed back hard, forceful, sucking on his tongue, biting his lower lip, a strand of spit snapping as they parted before returning to the kiss. Drew gripped Johnny's jaw in his hand, held his head in position while he pushed into him, and Johnny enjoyed the friction created by their hips rubbing against each other, his dick hard in his jeans as the zipper grated.

His own hands wandered underneath Drew's clothes, seeking skin and he lost focus, lost control over the kiss for a few seconds, feeling Drew's tongue fucking his mouth, adjusted the rhythm, rocking of his groin into Drew's to it, making them both moan at the contact.

"Bed?" he asked in between kisses.

"Yeah," Drew agreed. "Bed would be great." His hand was on Johnny's ass, his tongue sliding against Johnny's as he lifted him, rising to his feet.

Johnny reacted, closed his legs more firmly, ensconced, and felt every step, a spike of pleasure through his nervous system until his back hit the mattress, the push of groin against groin igniting a fire in his stomach.

His hand was back underneath the clothes, pushing up Drew's shirt, pulling it over his head, and then there were planes of naked skin against his palms, Drew's nipples hard, a hiss when Johnny rubbed over them and then took one into his mouth, tugging at it with his teeth. His hands were making short work of his trousers, opening, jerking at them until they were past Drew's hips along with the boxers.

Drew's dick was heavy against Johnny's stomach, reddish and hard and Johnny closed his hand around it, just touching, feeling as his mouth sucked on skin, scent of sweat and Drew and sex in the air. His own erection was straining, the need to be inside Drew as fast as he could, to fuck him, get into his body.

The trousers were off and Drew shook them off, letting them fall to the floor, then he helped Johnny to get out of his own jeans, slower, more careful so that he wouldn't get caught in the zipper and hurt himself. Johnny was painfully hard, moaned, throwing his head back when Drew lowered his face and licked over naked skin, taking the head of Johnny's cock into his mouth to suck once.

"Fuck me?" Drew asked, letting go with a pop, staring into Johnny's face with an expression of hunger.

"Yeah," Johnny said, gripping his shoulders, pulling him up again, face to face and losing himself in another kiss. He didn't know what to think, what to feel, so he just let it flow over him, pushed away the small wave of panic and fear at the thought of doing _that_ again.

But it wasn't him, and they'd - Drew wasn't going to hurt, it would be fine.

"Lube," Drew breathed. "One - one sec." His left was still on Johnny's dick, jerking once, making all concerns fly right out of his head, while his right rummagged in his nightstand, getting out the lube, a condom. Once it was open, Johnny - working the condom onto his cock - saw Drew covering his fingers in slick before reaching around himself. Drew's expression tightened for a second before he relaxed, lifting his chin to give a little whine of relief.

"Drew -"

"Let me just -"

"Let _me_ ," Johnny demanded, done with himself, tugging on his cock once more, trying to work off some of the tense feeling of teethering on the edge. He coated his own fingers in lube and almost fell forward as they joined Drew's at his hole, touching gently before he worked first one, then a second in, rubbing the muscle from inside out, hot and tight around him, still too tight for his cock, tense and clenching.

Johnny caught Drew's mouth in another kiss, worked his fingers deeper the moment Drew relaxed a fraction; it always took Drew while, just this period of getting-used-to-it-again, before he could let his body go and - from the looks of it - enjoy the sensation washing over him. His eyes were squeezed shut, neck tense.

Then Johnny felt Drew lean into him, pressing their bodies back together, hard stomach rubbing against his cock, which felt better, even better when Drew closed a hand around it and touched, gripped hard. More blood rushed south.

"Get it in me," Drew moaned into his neck and his hips pushed back, finally, his back arching when Johnny nailed his prostate, impaling himself on his fingers twice, three times, taking them deep.

Johnny swallowed, waited a few more seconds, stretching and working at it before he pulled them out, wiping them on the sheets. "You sure?" he breathed, panting hard. His cock was screaming at him to stop asking stupid questions and get inside Drew's body now, fuck him till he yelled Johnny's name, till he came apart in Johnny's arms.

Drew seemed to agree. "I'm ready. Just - hold my hips - yeah, let me find the right pos- oh - _oh_..." Having impatiently taking a hold of Johnny's cock and positioned the head at his hole, Drew gasped loudly as he untensed his body, inch by inch. Johnny felt so much like just shoving his way inside he thought he would die if Drew didn't hurry up. A thrust of his hips, holding on tight to Drew's in order to hold him still, create the counterforce -

\- and the head of his cock slid in, making him groan with need to go further, more, make Drew take it all. It went slowly, too slowly, Drew slipping down, working at it. It felt like he was slowly coating his cock with heat, Drew's insides squeezing and holding him so he wouldn't pop back out, completely different angle from the handful of other times they'd done it, with Drew's knees up to his chest while Johnny lay on top, thrusting into him, hard and fast, or incredibly slow, drawing it out.

He didn't like that Drew could hold him down, set the pace, he didn't like that when he surged up to kiss and at the same time slam into his body, Drew gripped his hips in a lock and forced him back down, holding him still as he lifted up, half off Johnny's cock before using his thighs to settle back down, taking it to the hilt.

It wasn't the rhythm, wasn't the strenght, and then suddenly, it was, Drew holding on to him, closing his arms around Johnny's neck as he worked his hips up and down, riding him hard, getting into it so much that Johnny couldn't _think_ anymore from the pure force of the thrusts.

He managed to pull them closer together, felt Drew's cock draw lines of come across his stomach, dripping, and with Drew's thumbs pressing hard between his shoulderblades, his hands were free, one left on Drew's hips, helping him with the leverage, while the other closed around his dick, pulling and swiping his fingers over it, tugging and caressing and jerking in beat to the way Drew screwed himself on Johnny's cock.

Orgasm hit too early, far too early, and Johnny groaned, sinking back, only held up by Drew's arms around him, feeling himself come in Drew's body, muscles spasming around him, and he said, "You need to - I can't - you're _so hot_ inside," and Drew shuddered against him, breathing harshly, come covering Johnny's stomach, sticky, mixing with both their sweat as their skin glued together.

They fell backwards, Drew trying not to squash Johnny underneath him, side of his face against Johnny's collarbone, Johnny still buried inside, and when Johnny moved, he made a noise of protest, ' _not yet, not quite, give me a few._ '

Johnny closed his eyes and let go of Drew's dick and held his hip instead, trying hard not to move, not to even shudder, to lie completely still as Drew breathed into his skin.

 

The weather was nicer the next morning, sunshine coming through the clouds, when Johnny woke up, firmly bundled in the covers and Drew's body, hot like an oven against his own. He didn't want to move, didn't want to get up or do anything but lie there and enjoy the silence of their apartment and the feeling of Drew's skin, the scent of his neck, his hair.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the glare of the clock that said it was past eight am. He had classes to go to, lectures to attend, but all that could wait another half an hour. He buried his nose in Drew's neck and licked and Drew moaned and stretched like a cat and said, "Johnny?"

"Hm-hm?" Johnny asked, nuzzling harder, burying into him, seeking warmth.

"I love you so much," Drew mumbled, hardly audible. His grip said it all, though, the way he found Johnny's body without seeing him, putting his hands on his back and _pulling_ him in, like he couldn't bear a single sheet of air between them, not even the tiniest atom, like he wanted them to never be further apart than this.

Johnny wanted to crawl into his body and be inside him and joined and together with him forever and ever. He had no idea how to express it other than to say it back. And it still seemed hardly enough.

 

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

When Kimmie had said she'd dated a Brian, Stéphane hadn't thought she meant that they'd had a night of drunken sex and become friends afterwards, but apparently, they had different definitions of 'dating' and also, pronounciation of the name 'Brian'.

Brian was an arrogant French exchange student with an accent a mile wide who had been staying in New York about two months longer than Stéphane himself. He also didn't seem to have any friends, which had made him the perfect candidate for Kimmie's continuous attempts to bring stray kittens home.

"He just sleeps with people," she confided in him when Brian wasn't looking. Or listening in, for that matter. "I don't think he really wants to have any friends. Which is why we have to help him out."

After one evening of trying to stay civil, Stéphane knew exactly what she meant and also wanted to tell her that he immensely disagreed with her last statement. There was no need to help Brian out, Brian was perfectly capable of destroying every attempt at normal social interaction himself. He also had an attitude like no one Stéphane had ever met.

And he kept leaning in to touch Stéphane's shoulder and neck and ear and it was _annoying_.

Also, he cheated. Stéphane had no idea what playing Texas Hold 'em had to do with becoming friends, but Brian's idea of playing was to try and find out what everyone held in order to win. Since Daisuke seemed not to understand that keeping your cards a secret was imperative, Kimmie had had two glasses wine too much and kept blurting out what she was holding, and Brian had _no sense of shame_ , it was not a fun game.

"I hate you all," he proclaimed when he found himself on the big blind with a jack of hearts and a seven of spades.

"No you don't," Kimmie snorted into her glass. "You love us. All of us. Even Brian. Brian needs some loving too."

Stéphane gave her a hard glare. He was not going to be set up by her and her... flimsy, transparent antics.

Daisuke patted his shoulder, which made him jump because he thought Brian was feeling him up again. "Don't worry," he said. There were something very Japanese about his sentence structure. "The quicker we lose, the quicker the game's over and we can all go to bed."

"We could go to bed now," Brian offered, leering at Stéphane.

Stéphane kicked his shin under the table.

Brian yowled. "If you're trying to play footsy, you're doing it _wrong_."

"That was me trying to reach your balls," Stéphane bit out.

He noticed a second too late that that was _entirely_ the wrong thing to say. Brian's smirk turned smug.

"I did not mean that," Stéphane pointed out, flushing brilliantly red.

"Sure you didn't."

Kimmie was hiccuping with laughter. Daisuke seemed thoroughly uncomfortable.

"It's time for you to go home and us to go to sleep," Stéphane said quickly. "Really."

Brian didn't listen. Instead of going home, when Stéphane tried to make a beeline for his room, he followed, with the air of someone who owned the place, and wasn't that just plain annoying?

"It's barely past eleven," Brian said as he ran into Stéphane's back when Stéphane stopped abruptly. "We could go out, get some drinks or something. Are you sure -?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I've got classes in the morning."

"Don't be silly. It's Sunday tomorrow."

"Theater classes. In a theater. Which is open Sundays."

Brian did not get the message. When Stéphane stepped fully into his room, he followed on his heel, looking around curiously. "Your room's nice."

"My room's off limits to everyone who hasn't been strictly invited," Stéphane emphasized.

Brian nodded. "That tends to be my policy as well."

Stéphane closed his eyes and groaned.

"Are you turned on?"

For a moment, Stéphane had no idea what to say or even how to react, because obviously he was _not_ turned on and what kind of a question was _that_ , anyway, but when he opened his eyes, Brian was just staring at him curiously, like he was a science experiment to be dissected.

"I do _not_ want to sleep with you!" Stéphane roared, exasperated and at the end of his rope. "Would you just _go away_?"

And for all the evening had gone wrong and all the saucy remarks and attitude and his stubborn pigheadedness, Brian deflated and his expression turned miserably pained for a second before he covered it, quick on his feet, smiling, pulling his shoulders in. "Fine. I'll just go. I didn't - I'll go."

He turned around and left. There were a few voices outside, Kimmie and Daisuke, and he could hear them talking, Brian's voice, too low to understand the words. He let himself fall to the bed and groaned again, pulling the pillow over his face.

Yeah, Brian was good-looking and sexy and if Kimmie was right, superb in bed, but he didn't want - he hadn't even been all that attracted. A little maybe. It wasn't what he was looking for right now. But he should have been nicer about it. Clearly, Brian had known what he was being set up for, and the fact that Stéphane hadn't - it had only started to dawn on him over the course of the evening - had mixed up a lot of things.

He was going to kill Kimmie.

After he'd slept. He was tired and he just couldn't deal with it tonight. Tomorrow, he was going to explain to her why set-ups like these were a very, very bad idea. And then, he figured, he might want to apologize to Brian for not letting him down more gently. Not that the bastard deserved it.

 

~*~

 

Johnny was not sure how he found himself before the theater on a Sunday noon. He quickly decided that it was not very important, nor did he want to have to explain it to himself, so he just gathered all his courage and pushed open the door. It creaked but gave easily. It was dusky inside, there weren't many lights on. The hall looked like it might have during a real screening. It was also very, very strange to softly tip-toe towards the last row of seats and listen to words echoing to the last corner of the building, pronounciation and emotion perfectly mirrored, each syllable matching the content of itself.

He could make out two people on stage, a girl and a boy, bouncing a conversation off each other, acting as if there was a table before them, or not a table, something else, something only those who knew the script could see. She was better than he was, more passionate, her voice grating and rise-falling with strong intent.

Then, into the leisurely flow - "Stop, stop, stop!" a louder voice interrupted and a woman who'd been standing in the shadows became visible, walking towards them, shaking her head. "Laura was beautiful, just beautiful, but Simon, try to act like you're in lust at least a litte? You _are_ Don Juan after all -"

Johnny laughed inwardly, stopped listening and tried to make out the other figures, some sitting in the front row, some standing behind the stage, their occasional motion betraying their presence.

Stéphane should be here, he thought. It might have been nice to see him try his luck on stage. Johnny smiled at the imagery, making Stéphane speak the words Simon had attempted to breathe life into. Stéphane would make a great Don Juan. Something in him was very, very sure about that, despite never having actually seen Stéphane act.

He half-jumped in fright when someone touched his shoulder from behind in order to make him turn. He hadn't expected anyone to talk to him here.

The boy standing behind him looked rather cross. "What are you doing here?" he asked, frowning. "This is a closed course rehearsal."

"I'm sorry," Johnny apologized. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I thought you'd be finished by now." At least, that's what Stacey had said.

"We will be, in five minutes. It would be nice if you could wait outside -"

"All right, ladies, enough for today. Pack up, get out of here and get home safe, everyone," the woman on stage proclaimed loudly.

Johnny half-grinned.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Fine. Who're you waiting for?"

"Uh, nobody? I mean... I thought Stéphane might be here ...?"

There was an interested look, up and down his body, a scrutiny of sorts. "You his boyfriend or what?"

"No!" Johnny quickly shook his head. "No; I just - I - should probably go."

"That's no good _now_ ," the boy said. "He should be down in a second - there - hey, Stéphane, there's a guy here, says he's been waiting for you!"

Stéphane stumbled in mid-step when their eyes met, but caught himself quickly enough. The boy gave a little wave and left with a group of several other students who all said goodbye to Stéphane on their way out.

"What are you doing here?" Stéphane asked when the last of them was out of earshot.

"I came to see if we - if you want - maybe..." Johnny felt himself fall over his own words and took a deep breath, voice fizzling out. "You know. Something."

"Uhm." Stéphane looked around, probably realizing that it was Sunday and he didn't have other classes as an excuse to bow out. Or maybe he was just pondering how to let Johnny down easy.

"It's okay," Johnny quickly intercepted. "If you don't want to, I'll just go -"

"No, I do."

"You -"

"I want to." Stéphane bit his lip. "Just -"

"Stéphane, I have to lock up now," came a voice from the side and they both turned towards the source. It was the teacher.

"Yes, we were just leaving anyway," Stéphane nodded. "Sorry."

This was how, half a minute later, they found themselves standing in a sidestreet, fidgeting without quite knowing what to do with themselves. Johnny took the step. "We could go walk 'round Central Park?" he offered.

"Get some food later, too, yeah," Stéphane agreed. "I'm starving."

"Cool."

They set off after a second of awkward silence. Only halfway down the street did Stéphane clear his throat to ask, "How did you - how did you know where I was going to be today?"

Johnny laughed, embarrassed. "I asked a friend of mine who's in your class."

"You have a friend in my class?"

"Ah, yeah, fashion/design and theater, not a world apart?"

"I guess not, no. Who is it?"

"Stacey. We're not really friends, I mean - I hardly know her, but I did know she was taking a few classes at the acting school. The rest was dumb luck."

It was quite a walk from the run-down little theater the school used as practice ground on Sunday mornings to Central park, but they made good time, especially since the conversation fell flat again soon, with the both of them not quite knowing what to say. Johnny thought it might have been less awkward without the worse-than-bad start they'd caught this time; but then, it might have been less awkward if a lot of things had never happened.

"Is - is your family doing okay?" Stéphane finally asked, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. They were slowly strolling by the side of the lake by now, Johnny snipping a stone to the water whenever he picked one up.

"Yeah, they're fine." And _there_ was one thing Johnny had no desire to talk about.

"My - my mum wrote me a lot while I was gone. There were a few things she wrote to me about you as well. I thought maybe it was just rumors, it didn't sound like you -"

"Probably all true," Johnny said, sharp. "Can we drop it? It was three years ago. It's in the past."

"I just... I guess I need to know that you're all right."

"I am."

"It didn't sound -"

"I _am_ ," Johnny said abruptly. "Let it go."

Stéphane clamped his mouth shut and looked away. There was silence again for a good five hundred meters before he rolled his shoulders. "I should go home."

"I'm sorry."

Stéphane turned to meet his eyes, surprised.

"I _am_. I never mean to be like that. It - it just happens." Johnny took a deep breath. "It only fucking happens around you. When we met again at the studio, afterwards, I snapped at Drew, badly, and he got really mad at me. I've _never_ talked to him that way before, not since we've known each other."

"What are you saying?" Stéphane asked coolly. "That I make you act like this?"

"No! That's not - all I'm saying is that I don't want to say these things, all right, and I _am_ sorry about saying them, about being mean. I don't think it's fun or anything like that. It's just like when you're around, I completely lack that filter and when my - my emotions get the better of me, I just say things."

"Pity just that it's all bad emotions, huh?"

"That's not true."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me!" Johnny stared up at him, stopping their walk, forcing Stéphane to stand still beside him. "I'm so tired, okay? I am _so_ tired of walking around with this big lump of hate and regret inside. I don't want to feel like that, about anyone. Can't we just work things out? I want to, I really do, anything so I'll stop feeling so exhausted every time someone says something that reminds me of things I'd rather not think about. There are too many of those!"

He hadn't even realized he'd gripped Stéphane's wrist until Stéphane looked down, focussing on his fingers. He let go like burned.

"I want that, too." His face must have been funny, because Stéphane smiled, very sudden, broad and amused. "Don't look so disbelieving, what did you think I'd say? _I want to hate you forever and ever and get out of my face, asshole_?"

"No. I just - you said, when we met at the café, you said you didn't know whether you still wanted to make that effort."

"Hey, I made that first step twice!" Stéphane pointed out. "I thought it would be nice for you to come to me for a change. I never said I _wouldn't_ give it another try if you really wanted me to."

Johnny let the tension go, felt his stomach drop because there, his chance at being _better_. He swallowed and just went for it, head-first, arms thrown wide, like the complete idiot he probably was, batted his eyelashes. "Because I'm just that irresistable?"

"Shut up," Stéphane laughed, allowing them to _do_ this. "You're so not."

"You're just saying that to make me cry so you can comfort me later."

"And now you figured out my evil masterplan, go figure."

They kept the banter up for a few more minutes, just being silly together, fooling around with words, trying out how far they could stretch those new-found boundaries. It came to a very natural end as they started walking again, and that was different too, very unlike those instances before, where they'd stopped out of shame or guilt or cruelty, because something'd been touched neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

It felt good, Johnny decided and held his face up towards the sky, closing his eyes as he made a few careful steps, trying to stay in a straight line on the ground. A bit of sun was shining through the thick clouds. It felt like there was something bright inside him now, a tiny little crystal that was blazing, just newly-woken.

"How's the acting going?" he asked to cover the silence, to save it should it grow too prolonged, should it grow awkward. It hadn't yet, but there was no risk in stirring a conversation up anew.

"It's all right," Stéphane said.

He sounded a big smug while saying it, so Johnny re-opened his eyes and grinned. "You're the best of all of them?"

"Obviously."

"Knew it."

"What? How?"

"Well, first off, you have so much more experience than them," Johnny pointed out. There was a biting little remark on his tongue, a follow-up, as Stéphane was sure to protest, but he swallowed it, dashing on. "And secondly, you're good at everything you do."

Stéphane flushed under his gaze. "Thanks."

"Just stating facts," Johnny shrugged. _Almost_ everything, at least; that relationship thing, they'd have to work on a bit more, he thought. The sun vanished behind the clouds again and he gave a shiver. "Do you still wanna get something to eat?"

"You cold?" Stéphane asked, concerned. He was taking off his jacket as he spoke. "You're not wearing enough, stupid, you'll get sick -"

"No, I don't want -"

"Just freakin' take it, I'm really warm and you're shivering -"

"Fine. Just until we're inside somewhere. I'm hungry now, too."

"Good. Lead the way, then. You obviously know your way around better than I do."

Johnny rolled his eyes, but didn't protest anymore, just pulled Stéphane's jacket around himself closer and inhaled the scent deeply, head growing dizzy from the familiar, lulling sensation that washed over him. It was very warm, and very comfortable. He hardly paid any attention to his own feet, or Stéphane's quiet babble, as they walked to get some lunch. All he could think about was the sudden prickling of his fingertips, and tingles in his stomach that made him feel like he was about to take off to fly.

 

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

After their walk in Central Park, things got easier, almost like something in the way they'd settled things, and afterwards spent hours together just talking about nonsense and TV shows and new movies, had smoothened the way for renewed meetings without that hostility that had been attached to their previous get-togethers.

Walks got rarer as November progressed and the leaves started falling and it got almost too cold to take long ones without freezing one's fingers off. They had both busy schedules, so they didn't actually spend quite as much time together as either of them might have liked - and Stéphane had to admit to himself that he sometimes found himself thinking, 'Johnny should see this' or 'oh, there's something that'll make Johnny laugh' and then had to remind himself that they weren't quite _that_ close again yet.

It should have caught him more by surprise, he sometimes thought, but then again, he'd learned a long time ago already that being friends with Johnny was unpredictable like the weather. There was sunshine and snowstorms, and one could somewhat plan for them, but at some point, the only thing left to do was to capitulate.

What did catch him by surprise was the fact that he was _spending time with Brian_. Which - was troubling. He hadn't even noticed or rather, he _had_ noticed, but he'd mostly spent the time in his company being annoyed or trying not to strangle Brian because of his prattish asshole behavior, so it wasn't like it was quality time. However, at some point in the past weeks, he'd gotten used to the arrogance and the bossiness and his overbearing superiority and by now, he was willingly seeking him out, which was just wrong.

But Brian was also a good listener and he gave quirky advice that, if applicable, actually worked - two homework assignments had been saved by his hovering over Stéphane's shoulder as Stéphane wrote or practiced or used either of his flatmates as imaginary characters from his appointed plays. And Daisuke liked having him around. And he made Kimmie laugh, which was always beautiful.

The only thing Stéphane couldn't deal with was his curiosity and tendency to poke his nose into other people's business. Which was what he was doing now, having crept into Stéphane's room while Stéphane wasn't looking. Okay, so he'd knocked, but duh, of course Stéphane'd call "come in" when someone knocked on his door. It wasn't _literal_.

"Nice date?" Brian asked with a smirk, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"It wasn't a date," Stéphane muttered, turning back to his computer with a dismissive look.

Surprisingly enough Brian'd given up trying to get into Stéphane's pants almost immediately after Stéphane'd made it perfectly clear he was not going to fuck around. And he was still hanging. But then, he was hanging around Kimmie, too, and Daisuke - okay, Stéphane did not want to think about whether _they_ 'd fucked - so maybe he just liked them.

"Johnny again?" Brian continued, ignoring the subtle signals.

"We studied in the library, if you have to know," Stéphane sighed. "Look, would you mind? I'm trying to get some work done."

Brian came in and closed the door, grinning. "I don't mind. Go ahead and work."

Stéphane wanted to club him with a primitive bat. Pity he didn't have one at his disposal. "Brian," he warned.

"I'm just curious. But, you know, you really shouldn't go around romancing other people's boyfriends. Just my opinion."

"Because you're such an expert on relationships?" Stéphane asked with, as he thought, appropriate scorn.

"Because I've - ah - romanced some of those myself, and let me tell you, it does not end happy. For neither the other people nor the boyfriends."

"Well, I'm not fucking him, so you can put your mind at rest and get out of my room now."

Brian grinned. "Oh, that's making you touchy."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does. You know, you don't need to be fucking someone to have an affair -"

"Look, asshole." Stéphane turned around on his chair to glare at Brian full-scale. "I'm not doing anything with Johnny but being friends, and if you spread some other rumors or I get the idea you did, I'll rip off your private parts and block your windpipe with them."

Brian held up his hands. "I'm talking to _you_ , aren't I."

"Yeah."

"It's just that you're - you're digging yourself a grave here, Stéphane." The name flowed off his tongue in perfect French, making Stéphane tense, because Brian only ever called him Stéphane when he was being serious. The last-name-calling-macho-bullshit had quickly rubbed off on him.

"We're friends. That's what we've been first and foremost, before we ever hooked up, before we broke up and before all this." Stéphane's anger dissipated. "I've - I've been wondering. If it hadn't all been so much better if we'd never kissed that one time in the first place."

Brian shrugged. "I still think you're in love with him."

For a moment, Stéphane felt like a fish out of the water, gaping at Brian. He hadn't expected that. The bluntness threw him and he had to shake his head once before it cleared. "Excuse me?" he then asked, just to make sure he hadn't hallucinated that bit.

"You're in love with him. C'mon, how does that come as a surprise to you, from everything you've told me you've done, going to meet him in your first week here and so on? And every time you guys get together, you come home glowing like you've just had the most spectacular lay of your life. Which, believe me, you haven't had." Brian smirked. "Since we haven't fucked yet."

"Get out."

Brian laughed.

"Seriously, get out or I'll throw my scissors at your head," Stéphane threatened, picking them up.

Brian didn't stop laughing, just quietly and under his breath like Stéphane was the most amusing person in the world, but he did take his leave, closing the door behind him, footsteps walking away from the door outside.

The words, of course, rang true, and it wasn't like Stéphane hadn't known, on some level. It was just that he hadn't wanted to hear them, not now, not ever. And he wasn't _sure_. It could just be... hormones. It could just be a surge of old emotions, it could be that it'd go away again if they spent enough time together being just friends. You could love your friends just as fiercely as you might love a partner, after all.

He turned back to his homework and broke the tip of his pencil on account of driving it into the paper with a ferocity he hadn't anticipated himself. He swore, doubly at Brian, who always had to meddle with things when they were fine the way they were, and at himself for falling for it, because obviously, he could not be in love with Johnny, at all. He was not that stupid.

 

~*~

 

There were clear rules laid down in their relationship about holidays. Thanksgiving, Drew was to fly home to Alaska to his parents and sister, kissing Johnny goodbye at the airport, who'd then take the train home to spend it with _his_ parents and his brother. It was simple and easy enough and neither of them wanted any trouble about it, which was why it came all the more as a surprise to Johnny when Drew broached the topic a good two weeks from the actual holiday.

The living room was cozily warm for a change, Johnny huddled under a blanket and snacking on walnuts while they watched TV, Drew propped up against the other end of the couch. The movie was boring as hell, but there was nothing else on, and Johnny shifted, glancing over at Drew to check if it'd matter to him if he'd change the channel, and found Drew already gauging him.

"What?" he asked, growing defensive and feeling himself flush. There was, of course, nothing he could think of that he'd have to feel guilty about - he hadn't been spending _that_ much time with Stéphane, really, and there was still lots of time for Drew, after all, and if Drew wanted to watch the movie, Johnny could take it another half an hour...

"I was just wondering," Drew said quietly, "if you'd thought about the invite."

"What now?" Johnny interrupted his inner monologue and blinked. "What invite?"

"Nancy. Invited you to spend Thanksgiving with us?"

Johnny tore his attention away from the TV completely and fixed Drew with a stare. "Do we really need to talk about this?"

Drew raised his eyebrows. "No, of course not."

"Because I thought we were clear on that arrangement," Johnny continued as if Drew hadn't said anything. He could feel that he was starting to sound paranoid, so he shut himself up and tried to stop the glare from manifesting visibly. "You going home to your family, I going home to mine?" he explained more softly to take the sting out of the first statement.

"Well, that's how we did it the last three times, two of which we've been boyfriends. My - my parents extended the invitation as well, not just Nancy, though she told me again just last night on the phone how much she'd love to have you visit."

Johnny hunched his shoulders, looking back at the screen, not seeing the pictures, just movements. He didn't want to, but he could hardly tell Drew that, could he. So he just said, "I don't think that's a good idea, my parents are looking forward to seeing me."

"Winter holidays, then? Boxing day through New Year's?" Drew prodded. "C'mon. You've never seen where I grew up. I thought it would be really cool to show you, you'd love our house, it's beautiful. And you don't hate my parents, do you."

"No, no, I don't," Johnny said quickly. He'd met them twice, both times when Drew's dad had had business to attend to in New York and they'd decided to make it a visit to their son in extension. They'd always seemed very nice and warm, but he hadn't really talked to them for long, as it had been embarrassing as well. "I just can't say right now, I don't know what my parents'll wanna do, I have to clear it up with them." He couldn't look at Drew as he lied, because he was fairly sure his mom would be delighted for him and Brian... well, Brian didn't care so much, hadn't for years now.

Drew breathed in, and then released the air again in a puff, almost like he'd wanted to say something cutting and had barely managed to stop himself. Instead, he lowered his chin and allowed Johnny to avoid eye-contact. "Fine," he said. "How about I meet your parents?"

Johnny straightened under the blanket, growing cold. "Drew -"

"Because I feel like maybe you're just making them up, as I never get to see them, you never really talk about them, or your supposedly existing brother, and I think after a relationship our length, I'm entitled to have some expectations on that front... what?" He didn't look happy about neither Johnny's scowl nor the shake of his head. "Don't give me that look, Johnny, I want straight talk."

"Fine, have straight talk. I don't want you to come and I don't want to spend Thanksgiving at your place, I just want to be with my family for one day without anyone else interrupting." And that hadn't been what he'd meant to say, but Drew was making it so hard to explain it away _nicely_.

"Interrupting, huh?" Drew asked, and contrary to Johnny's anticipation, he didn't throw down, didn't even snap or storm out. He just looked like he was going to be sick. "That's nice. Thanks, _love_. That makes me feel really treasured." He didn't move, just turned his head, stony expression back to the movie and for the rest of it, as Johnny grappled what to say to make this all better, he seemed like it had his complete focus, and like there was nothing Johnny could do to distract him from it.

Johnny couldn't draw his eyes away from Drew's handsome face, the even lines of his nose and cheekbones and felt like he should apologize and make amends and try to repair this one, like he had the rare times they'd had a similar fight before. But he didn't know how, or why he should, because he'd told the truth, and Drew had asked it of him, so it was his own fault.

They went to bed not talking about it, but Drew didn't curl up with him, stayed on his side of the mattress, his back to Johnny, and for a long, long time, Johnny couldn't sleep because Drew was thinking too loudly and keeping him awake with his hurt.

 

~*~

 

The strangest thing about it was that there was no make-up phase. There had been no fight, after all, and all right, Johnny had been nasty enough to deserve a smack, but Drew had seemed to acknowledge that it was the nasty _truth_ \- well, not the fact that Johnny thought Drew was an interruption, because he obviously wasn't; Johnny loved having him around, loved talking to Drew and kissing Drew and just eating or watching TV, or sitting side-by-side, reading and doing homework. Just that he would be interrupting _family time_.

Maybe Drew understood, was the only conclusion he came to when the next day, Drew acted like nothing had happened, the only remainder of the talk the purple bags under his eyes from a sleepless night. He treated Johnny with warmth and kissed him gently before he left - his classes started earlier - and generally reacted like the boyfriend he was when Johnny approached him with anything.

It felt wrong, to not have it out, to not clear anything up, just leave it at that. Something about it clicked like a memory in the back of his mind, but he couldn't say why or how and he ignored it and let it go, because after all, in his opinion, if there was no conflict, why make one up? If Drew had put it behind them, then so would Johnny. There was no sense in dwelling on something stupid he'd said, when Drew'd obviously forgiven him and accepted his decision.

There was a lingering doubt, though, a nagging feeling that it wasn't so easy, that there was something important he was missing, so at long last, a good week after the discussion, the guilt was pressing on him so hard that he blurted it out to Stéphane when they were sitting on the swings at the playground they sometimes visited because at this time of the day, it tended to be vacated and gave them privacy and a sky of space at the same time.

"We had this really weird talk," he said after a bout of silence, swinging back and forth more heavily than Stéphane, who was sitting side-ways on his swing, sizing him up. "Because he keeps pushing to meet my family or for me to come spend time with his and I don't want to, it would feel weird and I - I don't want him to think - I don't want him to think anything, about me, except for what I am, right now, with him. You know?"

Stéphane was staring at him, mouth half-open in a puzzled and rather shocked 'oh' that made him look like he'd just swallowed a live and wriggling eel.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Johnny defended himself, gripping the swing's chain hard enough for pain to surge through his hands.

"You're seriously going to talk to _me_ about your boyfriend?" Stéphane asked, astonished.

"Why the hell not? You're my friend, right? There's nothing wrong with asking friends for relationship advice!"

Stéphane snorted. "You are seriously fucked up."

"What! That's not true, I just - I just want to know what to do, and you're the only one who knew me - before. And my parents, and things."

"And I'll keep telling you you're insane. There is no _way_ I'm going to get involved in this thing the two of you have going."

"Stéphane -"

"Johnny," Stéphane mimicked. "Stop it. I'm not going to talk to you about him. Take it to someone else. Talk to Drew, he's the only one beside you this actually concerns."

"But -"

Stéphane jumped off his swing and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I don't _want_ to talk about it. Let's go to a bookstore. I need to buy a book, and then I'm going to go home to call my mom, since I promised her to call today, and you're going to go home to talk to Drew or not talk to Drew or whatever you choose to do. All right?"

"No," Johnny muttered, but stopped swinging and stepped beside Stéphane to accompany him anyway.

As they walked, he couldn't help but glance at Stéphane and remember that if Stéphane was going to go home for Thanksgiving as well, they'd be at their childhood place at the same time again, the first time for years. He had no idea how to feel about that, either.

 

~*~

 

Thanksgiving arrived swiftly, and matters didn't get resolved, and Johnny still didn't say anything, because he was scared. They followed the rules, and Drew didn't even give him strange looks, or if he did, only ever when Johnny wasn't looking. His plane left before Johnny's train, and they kissed, Drew's warm hands on Johnny's naked waist below his jacket, caressing the skin with soft touches.

The house stood as ever, close to the road, a good five minutes from the bus station he arrived at a few hours later.

Johnny stayed outside, just looking at it, feeling a sort of heaviness as if he was only just now realizing how he'd missed it, which of course wasn't true. He always missed his family.

He couldn't bring himself to enter immediately, feeling like he had to steel himself for the reception, even though he knew it would be heartfelt as always when he came home, rarely as he did. Still, he thought with a twinge of regret, this place would always remind him of before, of the time after senior year that he'd spent spiraling out of control, it would always remind him of months living with his mom, and for much longer Brian, not speaking to him, acting like he was invisible. They had been right to do it, of course, but that didn't change that it had hurt like a bitch.

Of course, he couldn't stand outside forever, and he knew that they were expecting him - he had called beforehand, after all - so he stopped avoiding it and took the steps up the little stairway to the front door, ringing the bell to announce he was there.

Footsteps sounded from inside, then the door opened with flourish and his mom's face broke into a smile when she realized it was him.

"Hi mom," Johnny said and, unsure what to do, moved his weight from one foot to the other.

"Aw, dear, come in, what are you standing out there for?" she said heartily and pulled him into a long, tight hug when he did take that step inside. "It is _so_ good to see you, Johnny! Look at you, all skin and bones. You're still not eating properly..."

"Mom," Johnny protested, but didn't push her away, enjoying the embrace.

"You get more beautiful every year, too," she smiled and finally pulled away, keeping him at arm's length, peering into his face with a happy shine to her eyes. "We were all scared you might decide to skip out after all. It's good of you to come, your dad'll be ecstatic."

Johnny looked away. "I wasn't sure," he admitted.

"Still not sure we want you here?" she asked softly, with a reproachful tone to her voice. "Johnny, I know you're not stupid. It's been years. It's in the past."

The echo of his own words made him flush in memory. He'd thrown the sentiment at Stéphane in order to make him let it go, and here he was, unable to do so himself. He was pathetic.

"Don't look like that," his mom said, tapping his chin. "We'll be fine, you'll see. Your dad'll be home in an hour or two, so you can help me in the kitchen with the turkey and the stuffing and the pie, will you do that?"

Johnny nodded, grateful for something to do. "I'll get my things up to my room first, okay?"

"And take your time to have that shower, yes," she grinned. "As you always do."

He smiled back, slowly, carefully. He still felt like tip-toeing around the house, even now. He pulled in his shoulders and watched as she vanished back into the kitchen before going up the stairs to his own room. There was music coming out of Brian's and he hesitated before passing the closed door, not knocking.

He'd rang the bell. Brian knew he was home. He was just choosing to ignore it, which made Johnny's stomach contract in pain. It was stupid to have believed something might have changed, but as the popular saying went, hope really did die last.

Half an hour later, Johnny found himself in the kitchen and helping his mother out as she handled the cooking and baking. He set the table, decorating tastefully and then started peeling the potatoes as they found themselves engaged in a conversation about his studies. She'd been following the latest fashion developments, apparently, knew the trends in shoes and their names - flats, wedges, platforms; it sounded funny when she piped in with bits of knowledge she'd acquired from the better magazines. It amused him as well as it made him feel all warmth in his chest that she was taking an interest, paying so much attention to what he loved to do.

And then, in the middle of spicing up the turkey, she suddenly said, "And I thought that segment you did on the radio show about the return of ballroom dancing and its effect on the fashion industry was incredibly provocative." She grinned at him. "I considered asking your dad to take me to one of those courses, you know how they're popping up everywhere these days, you can even take some in the deserted old city hall rooms on weekends, but he's been blocking me since the first time it came up, what a pity. I might just ask any good friend of mine to accompany me."

Johnny blinked. "How on earth did you get your hands on one of my segments?" It was a college radio show! It should have only been available for the closer vicinity of the college!

His mom's grin widened. "I wrote that lovely person who answers the emails regarding the homepage - her name is Tessa, I think? And she tapes them for me and - did you know there is this funny thing called ... wait, how was - oh! Online storing? I think? She puts them on these storage spaces for me and I just need to click on a link? And then I can open it on the computer and the computer plays it for me."

Johnny blinked a few more times. "Tessa tapes the segments?"

"Maybe? She tapes yours," she offered.

"For you."

"Yes."

"... what _else_ are you keeping from me, mother?"

She laughed. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Johnny couldn't help the grin and the eyeroll. "Fine, keep your secrets." Then, softer, he added, "I'm glad you like them."

"You seem to have a lot of fun doing them."

"I do. It's - sometimes, I get so fed up with everything, you know, because designers are just assh- uhm, jerks so often and the industry people just try to exploit people for nothing and - can you imagine how often someone's tried to steal my ideas already? It's mind-boggling. So it feels good to be able to vent sometimes, even if it's just an hour or so I get to fill."

"I'm really proud of you, you know."

Johnny felt himself blush. "Thanks."

She slid the box with the turkey into the pre-heated oven, closed it and took off the mitt, touching his cheek with her hand. "You've grown up so much. I'm sorry that you feel like you can't come home more often, Johnny. I wish you would realize you're always welcome."

He lowered his chin to his chest. "Yeah."

"Everyone thinks so."

"Brian doesn't," Johnny said, bitter.

His mom sighed. "Brian doesn't know what to feel when you're _here_ , because he has no idea how to talk to you, after all the things you said to each other, back then. But he misses you as well."

"He didn't even come down to say hello, that's how much he misses me!"

"He listens to your radio show, too."

Johnny closed his eyes. That stung.

"He thinks I don't know," she smiled. "But he's never been good at being covert. Just talk to him, all right? Nobody would be more happy than me to see the two of you getting along again like before. You always had your little fights, but you love him, right?"

Johnny nodded quickly.

"Then it's just a matter of gaining his forgiveness and then, his trust."

And if it was that easy, he wouldn't be still suffering, Johnny thought, but kept his thoughts to himself and just smiled bravely at her, handing her the big pot with the potatoes he'd finished. "Is that enough, or should I do some more?"

"Two or three more and we should be set," she said. "After that, you're free to go, I'll manage to clean up on my own. Thank you, love."

Johnny smiled and ducked his head and grabbed two more potatoes from the pile. He slinked out of the kitchen when he was done, hovering at the foot of the stairs for a while before taking a heart and slowly making his way up to follow his mom's advice. He knew Brian wouldn't make the first move, he knew Brian was angry and hurt still and he knew all too well that it was _his_ fault, everything was, so there was no way he was getting around gathering his courage to find those first words.

He just hoped Brian would be more open to them than maybe Drew would be when he got back and took his mom's advice in that relationship, too.

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

Johnny knocked on the door twice, the first time too softly and there was no reply, probably drowned out by the music still blasting out from within; the second time, he tried louder and more self-assured as well. After all, he'd made up his mind, there was no going back now anyway.

Thankfully, he didn't have to knock a third time. The music stopped, footsteps approached and finally, the door opened a slit. Johnny couldn't see inside, all he could see was Brian's little face - not so little anymore, after all he was going on eighteen by now. He looked young still, barely fifteen - he hadn't changed a lot in the past three years.

He looked very, very surprised to see Johnny stand at the door, but he masked it quickly, adopting an impassive expression.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coolly.

Johnny stood his ground, even though his stomach was churning. "I wanted to see you," he said.

"You've seen me." He started closing the door.

"To talk. Please."

A moment's hesitation was enough to show Johnny he was on the right path. And, well. Brian was actually talking to him. It wasn't exactly a new development, but sometimes, Brian was in a mood, and then he didn't talk to anyone.

"Look, I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something or if it's a bad time. Mom'll want to have us ready for dinner in a few hours, and I wanted to - if you want, before that, just come to my room, all right? I'll be waiting?"

Brian's face softened. He let the door fall open. "I hate it when you do that," he muttered, but he did step back to make space for Johnny to come in.

"Sorry."

"Like hell."

Johnny smiled shyly.

Brian let himself fall back onto his swivel-chair and closed the lid of his laptop pointedly before he turned to Johnny, who'd sat down on the edge of the bed in the meantime.

"What do you want to talk about?" Brian asked.

"You look good."

"Thanks. Is that all?"

"No. No, I just - I just wonder sometimes if you're all right and then - I need to know, okay? Because I fucked up, and I never, _ever_ meant for you to get hurt."

"You said that before, yes," Brian snorted. "And yeah, I told you, I'm fine. No thanks to you." The last was added in a quiet half-whisper.

Johnny swallowed. "Are you ever going to let me off the hook for what I did?"

"You took me to a club, let me get drugged and almost raped. Yeah, sure, Johnny, of course, what do you expect, for me to be angry at you for longer? After all, it's not that big a deal." Brian gave him a look. "Oh, no, wait, I forgot. You left me all alone to go fuck my girlfriend. In that case, no. I'm _not going to let you fucking off the hook_."

Johnny's hands were claws in his bedsheets. He deserved it, every word, he knew that, but remembering didn't make him feel any less panicked or scared or full of horror than actually being there, back then, and maybe his memory even added some additional details to make it more torturous.

Of course, it wasn't exactly as Brian presented it, but he would never blame Brian for his memory being fuzzy of that night. He thought it might even be better that way, better for him not to remember all the details. Johnny remembered them all too well, sharply, in color, every single second, despite the club being smokey, lights dimmed, despite it being packed with people who were dancing and laughing.

He had been supposed to look out for Brian. It had been his idea, a stupid, brainless, irresponsible idea he was still beating himself up about, ' _in which idiotic, imbecilic universe does taking a fourteen year old boy to a club make sense?!_ ' - his mother, voice broken, repeating in his head over and over. He still didn't know what had posessed him, or why Brian hadn't said no - no, there was no blaming this on Brian. Which fourteen year old boy wouldn't have said yes, just to see what it was like, to make that experience.

He remembered getting chatted up, leaving Brian and Lacoste sitting at one of the tables, sipping their cokes - or whatever else Lacoste had ordered for herself. He'd followed the guy to the dance floor, as a second one joined. It had been sexy then, rubbing up against strangers front and back, arms in the air as they kissed down the small of his back, tongue sneaking beneath the waistband of his pants, over his neck, up towards his mouth.

Now, in hindsight, it made him feel sick.

He had no idea how it had all happend; he hadn't been paying attention. He'd had a few drinks too many and a pill under the tongue - he still didn't know why Lacoste'd come up to him and started dancing, he just remembered not protesting, scanning the crowd with his eyes for Brian as her hand slipped into his jeans to cup his dick, making him gasp.

He'd never asked Brian why they'd split up, why Lacoste had done that, possibly to get back at Brian, maybe they'd been fighting; and Johnny wouldn't even care for the girl, except it obviously still made Brian angry just thinking about it. He'd really liked her.

There was no sense in apologizing for it again. He hadn't made the first move, but he hadn't pushed her off either, he'd let her finish him off - he closed his eyes, disgusted with himself just thinking about it - and then gone to sit at the table to wait for Brian to come back to tell him to make up with her. He realized how screwed up the thought sounded, now, but back then, it had seemed perfectly normal.

Back then, he'd been fucked on LSD or X or whatever else they'd been giving out he'd managed to swallow without question.

He'd sobered up fairly swift when Brian hadn't come back to the table in a matter of minutes; worry had turned into panic as time stretched and his cell phone kept going to voicemail after a few rings.

Johnny still wasn't sure how he'd found him, luck and one of the bartenders having a conscience, realizing Brian was way too young to be in the club. By then, someone'd spiked Brian's drink, or maybe just forced something down his throat, and ripped his shirt, pants undone.

Johnny jerked his thoughts away from it. He didn't want to imagine again what might have happened if the guy hadn't dragged Brian out of the bathrooms by his neck, intent on throwing him out for being underage. He'd imagined it often enough in the darkness of the night, going over it again, and again, and again, all the horrible alternatives, one more awful than the next, as if reality wasn't bad enough.

He'd gotten his little brother drugged and almost raped, and fuzzy as Brian's mind might be about that evening, he had _that_ memory right.

Brian wasn't talking now, was just staring at him, challenge in his eyes, his spiked hair making him look younger than he was. As far as Johnny knew, he hadn't been at any clubs or parties ever since; he hadn't had a girlfriend ever since.

Their dad had never resorted to the method of ignoring Johnny, as Brian had, and even his mom had those first few months, but he hadn't been happy with Johnny either and had let him know it all too well. But he'd also provided Johnny with detailed information about Brian, which he thought, with a grim determination, might be more of a punishment anyway. Apparently, these days, Brian preferred to spend his days alone in his room when he wasn't playing ball with his team.

Johnny let go of the sheets, evened out the creases and stood up. The silence blocked his air pipes and made him feel like he was choking. He could hardly take thinking about back then, but he could even less take the reproach still new in Brian's eyes like on that first day after.

"I'll go," he said softly. "I'm sorry." He opened the door, heard Brian snort low and almost inaudible and pressed his forehead to the wood before he turned once more, taking a deep breath. "I never meant for that to happen to you, too," he finally said. He'd said it a hundred times before, but it could not be said often enough. "I _never_ would have - if I'd know - I wish I was a better brother. That's - I wish I could have been that."

He left then, closed the door behind him and strode over to his own room, threw himself on the bed and buried his face in his pillow, fighting hard not to let the tears overwhelm him. The phone on the nightstand stared at him, made him think of calling someone, anyone - Drew, first on his mind, because Drew would listen, Drew wouldn't judge. But then he remembered that he'd never told Drew anything about this and he wanted to, suddenly, but not over the phone.

There was one other person he'd told, one other - but he couldn't call, it wouldn't - not today, maybe tomorrow, tomorrow they could -

There was a knock and then the door opened and Brian stepped in, pale-faced but determined, looking at him like he'd just seen a ghost. He opened his mouth, tried to speak. On first try, no sound came out, and he only managed on the second, to ask, "What the fuck, what are you saying, 'I never meant for that to happen to you _too_ '?"

Johnny sat up with a whoosh, feeling blood rush out of his face. "Nothing," he lied. "Just a slip, I wasn't implying anything."

"The fuck you weren't," Brian said, cold as ice. "What is that supposed to mean, 'to me _too_ '?"

"I told you, it's nothing -"

The door slammed shut. Brian advanced, forehead blotchy, cheeks reddening. "You fucking owe me. Don't lie to me."

Johnny swung his legs off his bed and made to get up. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sit down." Brian's voice was harsh and grew colder, which Johnny hadn't thought possible. "Sit down or I swear to god, I'll go downstairs and tell them I need therapy because I have nightmares and I'll make them stop talking to you for _a long, long time_."

Johnny stared at him, unable to believe he was hearing this.

Almost as if he'd realized what he was doing, Brian deflated, eyes softening. His gaze met Johnny's again, this time more compassionate than challenging. "I need to know," he said. "I could have - worked on it. I never wanted to forgive you, because hating you is so much easier. But - in exchange. If you tell me, I promise I'll work on it, trying to - not forget, but maybe to stop blaming you so much."

Johnny looked away, feeling his chest squeeze together. "All right." He thought he might have given in to any bargain in that moment. It wasn't like he was left anything to bargain _with_ and if Brian wanted this. He would have given him anything. "Sit down."

Brian shook his head. "Tell me."

He took his time. It wasn't easy to formulate words around the images he'd been carrying around with himself for such a long time.

"I slept around," he muttered finally. "After Stéphane. I -"

"I remember."

"Lots of clubs. Just drinking, people. Just never -" Johnny could feel himself starting to flush, even though he knew Brian wouldn't be fazed, they'd had the talk, twice. It was still humiliating, talking about it in context of himself. "I never let anyone fuck me."

Brian stared at him.

"I went home with this one guy, and - god, it was so stupid, I didn't _think_ , I'd done it before a couple of times - going home with people. It was supposed to be all in good fun, right?" Johnny felt himself shrug. "Well, it turned out it wasn't so much fun after all."

"He - you?" Brian's voice didn't quite manage to carry the syllable.

"No," Johnny laughed, bitter. "Nobody would call it that - I was high on some drugs he didn't even force me to swallow, I just thought it'd be fun to try them. And they made me - how'd he call it... _pliant_."

There was sympathy in Brian's eyes. Johnny looked away, squeezing his pillow in his arms. "I said no, but - I wasn't quite forceful enough about it, I guess."

"You never said," Brian muttered. "You never - that - and you got worse after that."

Johnny shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Of _course_ it matters!"

"No, it doesn't!" Johnny snapped. " _Nothing_ excuses taking you to that club, or leaving you alone for even a second."

Brian looked at his feet. Nothing did.

"Thanks," he said at long last, still not looking at Johnny, and in a voice almost soft enough to be inaudible.

Johnny nodded. Brian was right. He owed. And so much more than that.

 

~*~

 

Johnny got a hug from his dad when he got home, made a point of asking if he was still liking his new job - finances had been set a bit straighter again now that both his parents worked full-time jobs again - and managed not to show any of the stiffness he felt from the conversation before.

But strangely, something had shifted in the balance between them, and unlike the few times he'd come home before when they'd been forced to sit together, this time, dinner was better. Brian didn't act like he didn't exist, didn't pretend to be immersed in thoughts or his food whenever Johnny said something. He didn't pull their parents on his side with every word.

He was nice. He looked at Johnny. There was still, sometimes, a glimpse of reproach in his eyes, but usually overshadowed with something Johnny didn't quite want to think of as pity, because it made hot shame pool in his abdomen.

It made their parents happy, Johnny could see that, the way things were mending again, slowly as they did. His mom kept sending him these proud, motherly looks full of hope and even his dad, as much as he tended to act like nothing was going on, sat there, shoulders sagged in relief.

"He - he even thanked me when I gave him bits of my crunchy turkey because he likes those bits best," he mumbled into the phone, not quite sure whether to be happy or mortified that he was sharing it.

"Chances are he's starting to feel like you can take your brotherly duties seriously again." The words had a tone of mocking to it.

"Don't tease," Johnny said hoarsely. "You have no idea how much less tense it made the dinner table. It felt good."

"I believe you. I'm happy for you."

"Evan... would you mind meeting me in person sometime this weekend?" Johnny took a short little breath, bracing himself for disappointment.

There was a bout of silence on the other end of the line. "Are you sure?" Evan finally asked.

"Yes."

"Uhm. All right. I'm flying back Saturday evening, so not then, but tomorrow? Morning, possibly, if you can get away? It's Friday, your parents should be at work probably, I know mine will be..."

"Tomorrow morning is great," Johnny nodded even though Evan couldn't see him. "I - thanks. I'm sorry I called, I didn't know anyone else to - to talk to."

Evan made an understanding sound, but he seemed distracted. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll come over?"

"Oh." Evan pondered this. "Fine. Bring some pie. My mom didn't get around to making any and I have cravings."

Johnny laughed. It hurt in his chest, but it was a laugh.

 

~*~

 

Three years living the Californian life had given Evan the skin of a bronze statue and the look of a beach bum, complete with cap backwards and oversized hip-hop t-shirt. He looked slightly ridiculous, but Johnny didn't think it wise to point out the fashion disaster as he was at Evan's mercy right now.

Evan wasn't being very sympathetic, which was not exactly news, especially when it came to Johnny's woes, but he did have one surprise waiting for Johnny, which had been less of a surprise and more of a hope blossoming in Johnny's chest when they'd talked last night. He hadn't wanted to ask, and was now glad that he'd let the anticipation build.

Tiger Lily was sitting in his lap, yapsing and licking his hands as he ruffled the puppy's fur and ran his fingers through its soft hair by its scalp. He'd missed the dog more than he'd thought he would, at first, constant companion in pain as he'd been. It would have been worse, keeping him, though.

"Has evil Evan been feeding you enough, huh, lovely?" he mumbled as he buried his face in his stomach fur, listening to the happy whimpers. "You're all thin as a rag."

Evan turned away from his computer and rolled his eyes at Johnny. "As owner as dog, I'd say."

"I'm not thin as a rag."

"No, thinner."

Johnny humphed. "What are you doing there anyway? Are you writing your new secret lover or something?"

"On the internet?"

"Yeah."

Evan snorted. "That's not all you can use the Internet for, you know."

"What, online sex?"

"It's cyber sex, actually, and heh, no."

"But you do have a secret new lover," Johnny deduced, razor-sharp.

"Yeah, you're holding him by the ears," Evan deadpanned.

"Evan!"

"... no. I'm not seeing anyone."

"Really?" Johnny frowned. "Why not?"

Evan shrugged. "I'm fucking around."

Johnny glared. "Stop trying to subtly poke fun at me, it's not funny. It was very traumatizing for me. You can't keep making those cutting little remarks, that really hurts."

Evan sighed and got up, sat down by his side on the bed to pat his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just - don't you have anyone else you could talk to about this? You have a boyfriend, right? One who loves you so much, you do tell me about him, and you love him too? Why doesn't he know? Doesn't that make the whole... sex thing all screwed up?"

Johnny's glare intensified, but it was no longer directed at Evan.

"You can't just not tell him things like that. Can you imagine what he's feeling, telling you everything but realizing you never tell him things?"

"Yeah, thanks, I don't need you to tell me about that, I know Drew's feeling like shit about that myself."

"So why don't you do something about that?"

Johnny swallowed. The glare was dwindling, and he needed to hold on to it, badly, he knew that. Otherwise, he might actually cry those tears that hadn't wanted to come for Brian yesterday, and that would be bad, because Evan hated nothing more than crying people. "I - don't want him to know about that," he finally said.

"Why?"

"Stop poking at it!"

"Just freakin' say it out loud." Evan rolled his eyes, again. "I'm not even a therapist, and god knows you need one of those like nobody else I've ever met, but even I realize that this is crazy. You can't even say it!"

"I can."

Evan looked at him expectantly.

Tiger Lily squealed in his arms and jumped off, bristling, fur ruffled. He'd squeezed too hard, hadn't even paid attention and hurt - he just couldn't stop, could he. He whispered soft, reassuring murmurs and when Tiger Lily came back, looking slightly wounded about the treatment, Johnny apologized properly, picking the light little body up and stroking the fur gently.

The silence grew.

"You're not a horrible person," Evan finally said. There was wariness in his voice, like he'd done this a thousand times before, like he was tired of it.

Johnny guessed he must be. After all, he _had_ done this way too often. "You're a good friend," he said heartily, meaning it, kissing Tiger Lily's head right between his eyes. "I never say thank you enough, but you are."

Embarrassed neither of them dared to look at the other, or maybe, Johnny thought, it was just himself being embarrassed. He realized he was probably right when he chanced a tiny glance and saw Evan was staring at him, resigned and exhausted.

"Go play with the dog," he then said abruptly. "I'm sorry, but I need a few minutes."

Which was understandable.

Johnny got up, left the room silently and walked into the living room where he sat down on the carpeted floor, grabbing one of the chew toys his parents probably had lying around for Evan's occasional visit. Tiger Lily barked in joy and wagged his tail. Johnny laughed.

He didn't think he'd do it again, if he had the choice now. But then, it was three years later now, and Stéphane's leaving didn't hurt quite as much as it had back then, and he wasn't so messed up as he'd been from the clubbing and sex and drugs. He'd been desperate and he'd never wanted to see the dog again. He had had no idea what to do with it. Sometimes, he'd felt like drowning it or snapping its neck, just for barking in the wrong moment.

He'd never even known Evan had always wanted a dog. Well, he wasn't going to ask for him back now. Tiger Lily was still Stéphane's present, and he could kid himself all he liked by pretending to love the puppy - it was still painful to look at him and see that Christmas. They'd been kind of happy that Christmas. He'd made it all go to hell.

"He's not going to hate you for everything you did," came a voice from the doorframe.

Johnny turned around, ignoring Tiger Lily's growl to get his attention back. "What?" he asked voicelessly.

"Your boyfriend. He's not going to hate you."

Johnny found himself smiling. "I know. That's what I'm afraid of."

 

~*~

 

His mother was sitting by the fireplace, cocooned in a thick woolen blanket, when Johnny came home in the afternoon. It was already dark outside as it darkened around five and the sun rarely broke through the wall of clouds, so it was dusky the whole day. He'd walked through the town, the nice parts, the cinema, the cafés, high school, abandoned today. He said as much when she asked him how he'd spent his day.

He'd been around the parts where the clubs were as well, and the bars, but he hadn't set foot inside. All it had done was remind him, and break his heart all over again. As if he needed remainders of what he'd done that summer. It was all very clear in his mind, almost all of it, no protective layer of forget over his actions. He didn't mention that.

"C'mon, join me," she invited him, sliding over a bit to make space for him on the couch, nearer the fire. "You look like you're cold."

"I am," he admitted. He sat down and she handed him her cup, coffee, which he sipped slowly before giving it back. It warmed him up inside like the fire couldn't. Or maybe it was just her, sitting by his side, making him feel welcome and comfortable.

"Pull your feet up, I bet they're icy," she smiled.

Johnny felt himself smile in return. "They are. Stupid shoes, never do what they're supposed to. I keep walking around in blocks of ice. Sometimes I go all, 'oh, ice under your feet, you must have forgotten the skates'."

His mom laughed. "You still go skating, then?"

Johnny shrugged. "As often as I can, yeah."

"You could do some of those adult competitions they have, right? Get a coach or something? You're so passionate about it."

"I don't know. I'm - so busy lately. What with senior year and the internships and my thesis and the work at the radio and newspaper."

"You should get me some of your articles," she noted. "I'd love to read something you've written."

"They're not very good."

"I think anything that's coming from inside you must be good."

She seemed very sure of that. Johnny looked into the flames and felt his nose unfreeze, starting to run. "I doubt it," he replied shortly.

"Don't," she reproached. "Don't beat yourself up over things you can't control. All you can do is look at the present and into the future."

"I can't."

"Of course you can. You don't want to." She patted his legs that he'd pulled under the blanket to warm them. "You've always been like that, wallowing in the past, trying to find sense in it, digging around in it to get answers. It's good to learn from it, but getting lost in it is not going to help you get your life back on track."

Johnny bit his lip. "I just wish I could forget it all. That would be the easiest way."

"Because you've always taken the easiest way." She was looking amused. "Oh, Johnny."

"What?" he asked, exasperated.

She didn't reply. Instead, she caught his gaze and held it for a moment before saying, "You do know Stéphane's back in town, right?"

Johnny put his chin to his chest, shrugging.

"I felt like you had a right to know," she continued, watching him carefully. "But if you're planning to go see him -"

"- I wasn't!"

"Good." She gave him a long, thoughtful look. "He's a wonderful person, but he makes you stupid. Don't get stupid again, Johnny. Don't go near him. You're so much better again."

He didn't need her to say it aloud, it was clear enough from her expression. ' _Don't get your heart broken again for no reason at all_.' He didn't think he could take it either. He didn't plan to. He didn't plan to be stupid.

"I think I should go spend some time with Brian," he said, not answering her unvoiced question. His feet were placed on the floor again as he stemmed himself up to stand. "I think - that's a good idea."

"Get him to help you re-heat yesterday's leftovers," his mom said, smiling, her eyes bright with pleasure at his words. "It's all in the kitchen. He'll know, he helped me put it all away."

Johnny pressed his lips together in embarrassment, glad she'd saved him the trouble of finding something to do. He nodded and left for the stairs, shuffling a bit even as he walked. At least he was warm again, he thought, from the heat of the fireplace and the blanket and his feet didn't feel like they weighted ten pounds each. That was something.

 

~*~

 

Of course, staying away from Stéphane was _never_ as easy as it sounded. It was like a pull, like an invisible string drawing him close, and Saturday afternoon, he found himself walking up and down his street for the fourth time before the front door opened and a woman, Stéphane's mother, got into her car, starting the engine to pull out and drive off. She didn't see him, driving in the other direction, but he only had a few meters more to go; when he looked up, he saw Stéphane standing in the window, staring down at him.

Johnny couldn't see Stéphane's eyes, not from that far away, but he imagined they must show something akin to surprise.

A minute later, Stéphane was at the front door, stepping outside into the cold, shivering in only his homely clothes. "What are you doing here?" he asked, puzzled. "Shouldn't you be spending time with your family?"

"I was," Johnny shrugged. "I tend to feel caged more often than not with... family. Lately."

"Oh."

"Uhm."

"Do - do you want to come in?"

"I shouldn't." It was the truth, he shouldn't. He did anyway, under almost no protest, and it wasn't like Stéphane was trying to convince him to come in. It was just one of those things, heart and body pulling him in as his mind protested vehemently.

But he wasn't stupid. There was no way he was going to let anything but the friendship that was growing back between them happen. Not that there was even the slightest indication that Stéphane wanted anything to happen. No, he firmly closed his mind on this direction of thinking. Nothing at all was going to happen save maybe a cup of coffee to warm up and a bit of friendly small talk.

 

~*~


	8. Chapter 8

_You are what you love and not what loves you back._  
\- Jenny Lewis, You Are What You Love

 

Stéphane was not sure it had been a good idea to arrange their ride back together. He could feel the warmth of Johnny's body pressing against his own because the train seats were comfortable but narrow and he couldn't stop hearing Brian's voice in his head telling him to stop being stupid and admit it to himself.

The problem was simple: if he admitted to being in love with Johnny, he wouldn't be able to say he was in love _again_. It would be _still_ , and that... there were a lot of things wrong with that. He didn't think it was possible, for one, because they hadn't seen each other for three years, and one just didn't stay in love over that time span without being in any contact with their loved one.

And, of course, there was Carolina, and Antonio, and - and he'd cared about them deeply and he wasn't sure what that meant for his relationships with them, _if_ he'd still been in love with Johnny. How could he have fancied himself in love with -? Well, he wasn't sure he'd been in love with Carolina. They'd been together almost two years, and they'd never said the words.

But did it matter? His heart beat hard in his chest, pondering this. He couldn't help but come to the conclusion that maybe the reason he'd held back, in both those relationships, hadn't been because he'd been burnt so badly by Johnny, and that wasn't a thought he was comfortable with, because it meant he didn't know himself as well as he would have liked to claim.

He sighed, giving the thought up.

Johnny was leaning with his head against the window, that silly backpack of his on his knees, eyes closed, probably half-asleep, and Stéphane traced the lines of his face with his eyes, the little bump in his nose that made him smile, the soft curve of his lips, dry from the air in the train, the eyelashes. Of course, Johnny'd lost nothing of his attractiveness. Stéphane hadn't expected that he would. He just hadn't expected for it to hit him as hard as it did.

Then Johnny moved, wriggled in his seat, gave a little yawn and Stéphane noticed, too late, that his eyes were open, staring right back at him. He forced a smile anyway, hoping to mask his thoughts.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," Johnny whispered, voice scratchy.

Stéphane felt a flush heat up his face, over his ears to his forehead and down his neck. "I wasn't," he protested. His insides tightened.

"You shouldn't -"

"I promise."

Johnny half-smiled. "Thanks."

Stéphane could see his fingers whiten as he clutched at his bag harder. He bit his lip, clearing his throat. "Uh, so - so you're going back home for Christmas as well?" he managed to churn out over the rushing in his ears.

"I think so." The smile widened. "I - I hope I will."

"You're looking forward to it."

"Yeah."

"You don't go back often, do you." It wasn't a question.

Johnny shook his head anyway. "Not - not before. There were a few things... but it's better now, I think. I might - go home for longer, if. If things work out."

Stéphane swallowed the tightness in his throat down, couldn't quite stop himself from asking, "Did you - aren't you planning to spend Christmas with... with Drew?" He was a friend, he told himself. Friends were interested in these kind of things. It wouldn't do to be even more obvious about what went on in his brain. Most of the time, he found it easy to gloss it over, even towards Johnny, but nobody could hide everything. Some things were a hard earned fight.

"I don't know," Johnny said softly. "I - just don't know. Maybe? We haven't ever..."

"Oh."

"We're - not. Not that much about the past and the whole -" Johnny made a gesture. "I prefer for things to be about..."

Stéphane heard what Johnny couldn't quite bring himself to say in order not to sound conceited. 'I prefer things to be about me'. He couldn't hide the wry smile that rose to his lips. "Aren't they always," he muttered, and realized too late that it sounded more bitter than amused, which was how he'd intended it.

Johnny looked away, out of the window. "I don't know."

"I didn't mean -"

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

There was silence before Johnny gave himself a kick, almost visible in the way his body tensed and turned back to Stéphane. "You'll still have to help me find the perfect present for him, though. Because it's not all about me _all_ the time."

Stéphane snorted. "Just tie him to the bed and ravish him and it'll be fine." A moment later, he blinked, unable to believe he'd just said that. Another wave of heat hit his face. "I didn't -"

But Johnny was laughing. "It's fine. I've thought about it often enough, believe me. But something more substantial might be nice as well."

"I don't mean to - I know it's probably none of my business anymore, but, can I ask -?"

Johnny sobered, looking attentive. "You can ask me anything," he said with a nod. "You know that. I might not answer, but you can."

Stéphane smiled. "Thanks." He took a breath. "I - that Christmas, you got - Tiger Lily. Is he - I mean, you didn't, after we broke up - do you still have him?" When Johnny's face fell, Stéphane felt dread turn his stomach to stone. "You didn't give him away, did you?" he asked, voice hard.

"I'm sorry," Johnny said. He was not looking at Stéphane but at a point past his shoulder.

"Who - no. Don't tell me. I probably don't want to know." He gave a laugh, not funny this time, but hurt and disbelieving. "Is he in a good family, at least? Or did you just hand him off to any odd animal shelter to be mistreated?"

"He's fine, I swear," Johnny promised. "I just couldn't deal with him after you left, but I swear, I would _never_ have given him away if I'd not been sure he'd be treated wonderfully -"

"How would you know?" Stéphane asked sharply.

"After a while, when I got better, I did go to see him again. I -" Johnny's chest rose in deep breath. "Evan has him," he blurted.

Stéphane felt like someone'd stolen his body from neck down, swaying. "You - you gave our - you gave Tiger Lily to _Evan_?"

"I didn't know what else to do!"

"Take some responsibility for once," Stéphane snapped.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me about responsibility!"

There was a motion on the seats before them and the woman sitting there sent them a quietening glare. Stéphane ducked his head and lowered his voice.

"Look," he tried to reason. "I didn't mean to sound harsh. I know you have a lot of responsibilities and I've seen you in the past months, and I admire how you manage to juggle your life and still find time for a - a boyfriend and now me, and your family. I'm sorry. I was angry about hearing about Tiger Lily. I guess I always thought - I assumed, when I gave you him as a whelp that no matter how we'd end up, you wouldn't let it get in the way of taking care of him. But of course, it's none of my business what you do. Or did."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "He's fine with Evan. Evan always wanted a dog and his parents didn't mind as long as he was well-trained. There was no other choice, I was going to leave for New York anyway by the end of the summer and there was no way I could have taken Tiger Lily with me, never mind the fact that I - couldn't really look at him without being reminded. And Evan has an apartment in California that allows pets, it's out of the city, the puppy has a lot of space to run around and play and - Evan really takes good care of him. I saw him this weekend."

"You saw Evan?"

"And Tiger Lily."

Stéphane blinked, not quite sure what to feel about that. "But you're not - I mean. Evan and you, you're not -"

Johnny glared. "I'm _not_ a fucking cheater."

The woman in the seat before them turned around for the second time and sent them another glare. Johnny glared back at her until Stéphane touched his arm to get his attention and mouthed an apology at her.

"I didn't mean to imply you were," he said to Johnny. "Sorry."

"We had sex _once_ ," Johnny whispered, voice hard. "And _we_ weren't even together anymore when we did, and I have no idea why you're still so hung up about that. If you need a reason to be jealous, Drew might be the better target, don't you think?"

And that stung, like it was supposed to. Stéphane let go of Johnny's arm. For a long minute, he had no idea how to react, again, like a freakin' déjà-vu. Then he took a deep, reverberating breath and stood up, head swirling. "I - I need to use the bathroom."

"God damnit," Johnny swore loudly, very much to the chagrin of everyone around them, looking at them like a pair of hooligans making trouble. "Stéphane -"

"I'll be back in a bit," Stéphane said. "I need a second to calm down. We both do."

He'd promised himself - back after he'd first met Johnny again, he'd promised himself he wouldn't let Johnny's cracks get to him. He knew Johnny had always had that innate talent to hurt people he cared about, he'd known for far too long now that Johnny had almost no control over it, that he just couldn't stop himself from saying those things. But he was getting too involved again, throwing all shields to the wind as he opened up and that was dangerous. He needed that protection, otherwise he'd be tied up in knots in a matter of days again, trying to unravel his feelings, separating the hurt and the love and the lust and the protectiveness he tended to feel, all at once, around Johnny.

The bathroom on the train was small and smelly and full of germs, but it did have a wash bowl with running cold water and a mirror above, so Stéphane cooled his hands for a while, sprinkling a few drops onto his face, trying to tame his hair and then made a face at himself before he left it again.

He wasn't looking his best. He'd thought it wise not to try too hard, just be casual and unnoticeable, jeans and a thick jersey under his jacket. He hadn't wanted Johnny to think he was trying to be anything more than what they were, because he wasn't. He'd never. He looked at the sneakers on his feet, taking one step after another and wondered if that was true.

When he got back to his seat, finding Johnny with his forehead pressed against the cool window, looking miserable and sad, he reached out to ruffle his hair with a smile, indicating that he wasn't mad. Johnny smiled back, relieved, color returning to his face, and that was when Stéphane realized that he'd never on purpose do anything that might jeopardize what they had right now, or what Johnny wanted. Johnny had to make his own choices, without anyone there to prod him towards any decision whatsoever.

Not that Stéphane for a moment believed there was much of a choice to be made. After all, Johnny seemed happy in his current state. And why, really, why change something when life was going so well.

 

~*~

 

The apartment was empty when Johnny came home. He hadn't been quite sure when Drew'd be back, he realized he hadn't asked which plane he'd booked. It made him feel guilty, because he should have. He thought he should _care_ , and with a jolt found himself admitting that he didn't. Oh, he did care about Drew coming home. He missed him, even after only half a week, and he wanted to see him again, kiss him again, but -

It was all very confusing.

He unpacked the few meager things he'd brought, cleared out his backpack, then set out into the kitchen to look for some food and make a cup of coffee so he wouldn't fall asleep in the next half hour. And there it was, post-it note on the fridge, Drew's departure and arrival times - he hadn't even noticed Drew putting them up. A glance to the clock told him it was just past four pm, and Drew was due back shortly after five, which gave him an hour.

There was hardly a motivational factor as effective as guilt, so in the span of an hour, Johnny managed a half-baked lasagna which he left in the heated oven for later consumption, cleaned up after himself, vacuumed the living room and cleaned away his stuff into the designated corner so the couch was free again, changed the sheets on the bed into Drew's favourite black-and-gold set as well as lit a couple of candles putting them around the room for mood creation and found himself in the shower as the key turned in the door and Drew finally returned.

Finished, Johnny turned off the water, quickly rubbed himself down and towelled himself up toga-style before stepping into the bedroom where Drew'd just discarded of his baggages.

"You look tired," Johnny noted, voice warm, and found himself enveloped in a tight hug despite the fact that he left streaks of wetness on Drew's clothes.

"You look beautiful," Drew murmured and kissed his nose, running a hand down his arm. "What's with the flat decoration? Are you out to seduce someone?" He sounded amused.

Johnny scrunched up his nose and looked at the clock. "Yep, sorry lover, my appointment's due in five minutes, I'll have to throw you out in exchange for the hunky guy I invited over to screw me till I scream."

"I won't stand in the way of your secret trysts, then," Drew teased. "But I can have some of that delicious-smelling lasagna before I go, right?"

"Shut up," Johnny punched his shoulder lightly. He stood up on his toes and kissed Drew deeply. Drew tasted of coffee and chocolate which he'd probably eaten on the plane and his tongue touched Johnny's before he pulled back, taking a breath.

"I should have a shower as well," he murmured. His hands were back on Johnny's skin, running down his smooth chest and stomach. "Five minutes?" He smiled. "You can start without me." His hand dipped lower, letting Johnny's towel fall open to cup his slowly rising erection.

"Start what?" Johnny asked, huge-eyed innocence as his mouth curled up.

Drew petted his cock once more before drawing free and pulling off his sweater and shirt, letting them fall to the floor. "I'm sure you'll think of something to entertain yourself while I'm gone."

They kissed again, and Johnny felt he should say something about the weekend, about how he was sorry that they hadn't managed to talk about anything concerning their families, or how he thought they should talk, now - but a lump blocked his throat, and he found himself scared, scared so much that his voice wouldn't work even though he tried to speak, and his heart thumped hard and fast as he watched Drew vanish into the bathroom.

After, he thought, and laid down on the sheets, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling, mouth still filled with the taste of Drew's. After they'd had their fun, after everything was... less strained. Or maybe tomorrow. After classes, definitely tomorrow, they'd talk about it.

He closed his eyes, concentrated instead of the problems on the way Drew lit up every time their eyes met, concentrated on the way Drew's hand had felt on his cock moments before, gentle and touching with care, how it'd feel later, when he'd run his fingers up and down, or lower his mouth and let his tongue wander - his own hand closed around his erection and he pulled, twice, legs up and slightly apart, arching his back at the sensation sweeping his body.

Drew'd hurry up, he knew, and smiled at the thought, and they'd have sex and then they'd shower again and have dinner and maybe talk about something easy, un-scary, something not as difficult to share.

 

~*~

 

"So." Kimmie placed the pot of steaming soup in the middle of the table and held out her hand, demanding their plates. "Schedules."

"Uhm... what?" Stéphane blinked.

Daisuke grinned, and he looked absolutely delighted. "Christmas shopping," he announced. "We help each other out."

"Oh."

Kimmie grinned along with him. "Yes. And it always works out perfectly. Last year, I was at a complete loss what to get my brothers. Before, they always got, you know, the same thing, some kind of computer game or PS game or - whatever boys their ages want. Blow-up dolls of big-breasted girls, probably, in most their cases. Or, you know, the male variant, whatever that is."

Stéphane blinked again.

"But then! Daisuke came up with the lovely idea to get them all tickets to musical theater, and - you would not believe the hit that was. And, you have to realize, I mean, like, my brothers, they're hunks. Not your typical musical theater fans. Though, maybe Luke. He's always been a bit... anyway, they completely loved it. Last year, it was 'Lion King', so this year it's definitely going to be 'Wicked'."

Daisuke smiled at him and _rolled his eyes_ and Stéphane almost choked on his spoon-full of soup. "Great," he coughed. "Uhm. When do you guys have time, then?" After all, December was fast approaching, and so was Christmas.

"That's what I was asking," Kimmie said. "I'm free all Friday and I cleared my schedule for the weekend, but we can do it next week as well if it's better for you guys."

"Can't this weekend," Daisuke said slowly. "I have a class project. But Monday next week would be fine."

"Monday next week's good. I've got classes in the early morning and then nothing till afternoon, so we can meet up in the city somewhere and walk around the shops," Stéphane agreed.

"Great. Monday it is."

And Monday it was. They slowly made their way down Saks Avenue as they chatted about what to buy for their respective beloved, admiring the shop windows and outlays as they passed them, each window dressed up differently, each shop presenting what they sold in a unique manner, some gaudily, showing off golden-haired angels, christmas holly and figurines, some using a more conservative approach of red-and-green coloring, flower arrangements and tasteful ornaments, bells and wind chimes.

"So you're Christian, then?" Stéphane asked Daisuke curiously.

"Oh, no," Daisuke smiled. "No, my family isn't, but we like to celebrate it anyway. But we don't do big presents. I buy presents for my friends mostly - my family only exchanges self-made gifts, it's tradition."

"That's a nice thought," Stéphane smiled back. "I should tell my family that, I'd save so much money on useless crap."

Kimmie rolled her eyes. "Why do you buy useless crap, then?"

"Because sometimes, you just don't know what to get someone, so you get them whatever, in order not to look cheap?"

"That's nonsense. If you can't tell what someone wants, you don't know them well enough to buy them a present. Then your task for the season is to get to know them better to find out."

"If it was just that easy," Stéphane snorted. "I have barely talked to a lot of people who expect presents this year because I was abroad. I'm probably going to give away a lot of crap this year."

"Well, I don't want anything expensive _or_ crappy," Kimmie announced. "Just so you know."

Stéphane stuck out his tongue. "How do you know you're getting anything at all?"

"Because I know you don't want to look cheap, remember?"

Daisuke elbowed her. "There's that shop you wanted, right?"

"Right!" Kimmie pointed and grabbed them by their arms. "Daisuke, you're helping me find something suitable for my mother, because you know her and she loves you and probably told you all her secrets the last time I left you two alone for five minutes. Stéphane, you need to think about who you're going to buy stuff for today and who you have yet to decide what to get, otherwise we'll never get anything done. Sounds good?"

"Yes, Kimmie," they both groaned and exchanged suffering glances.

Kimmie left the jewelry shop with a graceful and very delicate golden necklace for her mother, and had apparently convinced Daisuke that he needed a similar one for _his_ mother, which she generously bought. When she'd looked at Stéphane and her eyes had gotten a misty shine, he'd managed to quickly flee the shop before she could buy some jewelry for his own mom as well. He knew his mother. She wouldn't thank him for it.

"Are you getting musical tickets for your brothers as well, then?" he asked Daisuke while they waited for Kimmie to sort her packages out after the third shop and some friendly fashion advice from thirty people Kimmie'd engaged in her quest to find the perfect sweater for her father, who apparently loved sweaters but never found any that were both comfortable yet looked professional.

"No," Daisuke laughed. "They prefer hockey, I think."

"Ah," Stéphane nodded. He hadn't been skating in a long while, himself. He hadn't skated since breaking up with Johnny actually, he realized and that sent a spike of sadness through him, so he pushed the thought away and concentrated back on the present. "So who else's left for you?"

Daisuke gave him a cheeky look. "I'm mainly here to try and figure out what to get the two of you."

Stéphane snorted. "I don't doubt you'll find something great even if we don't slip and tell you our heart's desire. If all else fails, you can get me some new feet, because if Kimmie keeps up this pace, mine'll be done in by the time we're finished."

"She hasn't even started," Daisuke warned.

But fortunately, Kimmie did have pity on their respective feet, because a good half hour later, she dragged them into a Starbucks and got coffee for everyone. It was heaven. It had been cold enough to freeze a turkey outside, and Stéphane's fingers, despite his gloves, had turned a shade of blue. He put them around his cup and waited patiently as they warmed up, enjoying the warmth of the coffee shop's inside penetrating his clothes and then his icy skin. His nose unfrosted.

"So, Stéphane," Kimmie looked up from her own cup. Her scrutiny made him somewhat suspicious. "Have you given any thought yet what to give your - what to give Johnny?"

"Uhm. No," he admitted. "It's not something - why are you asking me that? Is there something I should know?" Daisuke looked as non-plussed as himself, so apparently, he didn't know where this random question had come from either.

"Just wondering," Kimmie smiled. "What about Brian? I've heard he's married to his PlayStation, in which case he should be easy -"

"Kimmie," Stéphane warned. "Why would you even ask me about Johnny's present?"

"Is this about the editor thing?" Daisuke asked, and he was frowning. "I thought we talked about that -"

"Well, yes," Kimmie said, looking vaguely guilty. "But I thought, seeing as Stéphane is good friends with him, maybe he could gently inquire..."

"What are you talking about?" Stéphane interrupted them, staring from one to the other. "What did you two do?"

"We didn't _do_ anything," Kimmie rolled her eyes. "It's nothing bad. It's just that I thought I might have the perfect present for you to give him, but Daisuke said not to do it because it was none of our business, but honestly, I think it would be such a waste."

"Would you get to the point?"

"All right. Here's the thing."   
And Kimmie started to explain.

 

~*~

 

Johnny didn't find the perfect moment. Perfect moments were hard to come by as it was and every time he thought _this_ might be it, he suddenly found it might be better to enjoy the moment for what it was before introducing into it that sort of tense issue. Drew didn't talk about it either. He spent a lot of time on the phone, and in classes, and for a week or two, Johnny hardly ever saw him anymore, busy with his own studies and developing the last radio segments before the team'd all go home over the end of year.

"He's - something's bothering him, and he doesn't want to tell me what it is," he complained at Tessa and Meryl one day when the girls were both there brainstorming.

Meryl gave him a look. "Why're you asking us? It's not like he talks to either of us, you know. Actually, he's been spending some time with Scott and Charlie lately, you might want to ask them what's going on. They might be guys, but I've got it on good authority that they do talk about serious things now and then?"

"I don't know."

"Of course not. That's because you're stupid. Actually, you should talk to Drew himself if it's bugging you."

"I can't," Johnny said softly, looking back to his screen, queuing the next song for his list. He could feel them staring at him, the way the little hairs on the back of his neck were standing up from the scrutiny. He didn't want to explain himself. He'd just wanted to whine at them a little about what an inconsiderate boyfriend Drew was being. Obviously, they were no help at all in the matter.

"You two have serious issues," Tessa finally concluded. "You should take him out to dinner somewhere, give him a rose or two and a chocolate-y dessert and _talk_ about it."

But then, Johnny knew, he would have to face up to sharing all about his shameful past behavior which he wasn't especially proud of and secondly, with half a restaurant listening in, so. The idea was obviously no good either.

"Look," Meryl said gently. "You do realize your relationship will not work out if you can't share each other's problems, right? It's nice to have lots of good things to share, because it makes you happy, but the troubles, that's part of it. If it troubles you that he doesn't tell you, you should tell him that. Maybe he doesn't realize you noticed?"

And that was probably way closer to the truth than Meryl might think she was, which made Johnny very, very uncomfortable. He noticed when there was something wrong with Drew, he always had, it wasn't like he didn't pay any attention to the people he cared about _at all_ \- it was just that sometimes, he choose not to show that he noticed and maybe sometimes, he just closed both eyes to it because he had enough troubles on his own.

"Thanks," he simply replied and turned back to his work. "Sorry for bothering you guys. Don't let me interrupt your work, okay? I didn't mean to be a nuisance about this."

"Oh, stop it," Tessa rolled her eyes. "You're not that sort of guy. You love to bitch about people. Just - you know. Spit it out. You always get so moody when you chew on something for weeks. Believe me, you're much better to stand when you don't have something on your mind making you pout."

"I do not pout," Johnny pointed out, sniffing.

Meryl grinned and poked his cheek.

 

~*~

 

So instead of following all the advice, Johnny got home that evening to cuddle up to Drew on the couch and said, "D'you wanna go Christmas shopping with me?"

Drew, who'd been not-quite-watching the TV while typing on his laptop, put it on the little table before him and turned to Johnny to give him a surprised look. "What's with the sudden enthusiasm? You didn't seem in the Christmas mood a few days ago." His fingers reached out to play with a strand of hair that'd escaped into Johnny's face.

Johnny smiled. "I suddenly realized that I badly need to buy some things. And just go shopping. I need new shoes. Desperately. Sneakers, maybe the new Adidas ones. They're rather pretty, right?"

Drew stared. "Johnny, what the hell do you need new sneakers for, and Adidas ones at that? You don't even do any sports except for your occasional trip to the rink. And you don't wear sneakers there."

"Oh, but, Adidas 1! That's that new shoe that has the microprocessor built in that adjusts your shoe cushioning to whatever you need; plus, aside from that, they're really nice! I think I want those."

"So they can stand around and rot in our apartment?"

"No, I'll wear them."

Drew snorted.

"I will!"

"Because you don't have three other pairs of sneakers already that you never wear because you prefer to go out in those ridiculous furry boots of yours -?"

"But in the summer!"

"I have never seen you wear sneakers in the summer."

"Fine." Johnny sat back. "I won't buy them."

"You can buy them. You should just be aware that after a year of not having touched them, I'll throw them out. You know what would happen if I didn't throw out your stuff now and then. We would be sleeping in the park while your things would live happily in our cozily warm and actually quite spacious apartment."

Johnny pursed his lips. "You don't appreciate my urgency to be up-do-date with the fashion world."

Drew pulled him close and tumbled him into his lap, grinning. "I'm not telling you what to do or not do," he pointed out while giving him a kiss. "I'm just being rational."

"Which, may I remind you, is your job."

"When it comes to you."

"Yes, it is."

"Fine, we'll go shopping tomorrow."

Johnny beamed. "Yay!"

 

~*~

 

"You've never asked me to - I haven't ever seen you so excited about buying your family Christmas presents before," Drew commented as they were walking down the streets, popping into stores here and there to check out bags and clothes and possible future gifts. He looked happy, somehow, which made Johnny smile despite the cold wind cutting his face.

"It's kind of different this year," he explained, and his stomach lurched. Drew was carrying two of his shopping bags, he was holding one himself, and he told himself, _this isn't the moment_ , but somehow, Drew was looking at him expectantly, with that soft look in his eyes and he couldn't stop himself from saying, "we're better this year. My mom and - and my brother, and even my dad, though he didn't really - I think they don't hate me anymore so much." He swallowed.

Drew was staring at him, side-ways, almost running over people who were coming towards them. He looked surprised. "Why would they hate you?"

Johnny shrugged. "I did some stuff. It's not important what, it just made my family mad at me and especially Brian didn't talk to me for so long and it's just complicated." He looked at the tips of his shoes. "I'm sorry for being mean to you before, about interrupting family-time, but I guess it's just that I didn't want any additional things weighting down on my time with them which is so tense usually as it as anyway."

"But... it was better this year?"

"Yeah." Johnny smiled. "We resolved some things. It's not all going to go away so fast, not with everything that happened, so it's still awkward, but it's - better, yes."

"You're going home for Christmas, then," Drew concluded, glancing away.

"Yeah, I want to. I just - there's so much left to mend."

"I'm glad you told me."

Johnny felt himself flush. Part of him was glad, too. It wasn't everything by far, didn't even scratch the surface, but he'd apologized and Drew was okay and, and maybe they weren't doomed just because he couldn't say some things out loud. Maybe it would all be fine.

"You're going home, too, right?" he asked to bridge the bout of silence, moving out of the way when someone hurried past him, which pressed him closer to Drew. Their arms were lined up and he looped his own through Drew's to hang onto him, smiling up.

"I... don't know yet," Drew muttered. "Maybe. I don't know if my parents'll be at home at all, they might have some other plans, I... maybe."

"Oh," Johnny said, and thought he should say something, but then he saw a sports store out of the corner of his eye and pointed, excited, "oh! Look, soccer! I _know_ what to get Brian. C'mon." And he pulled Drew with as he stormed towards the store, bags rustling.

He didn't realize he hadn't even asked about Drew's plans until it was too late. He was too ashamed to ask afterwards, because it was just a few days till Christmas and Drew was packing and Johnny had no idea _where he was going_ , except it soon became obvious it was not his parents', because he didn't want Johnny to drop him off at the airport.

It was very awkward. He was sitting on the living room floor, outlining some ideas on his drawing board while trying to read up on the various applications and tutorials for PhotoshopCS which he'd been using for a while but still couldn't quite get the hang out of. He was pretty hopeless with computers, he just didn't want to give up so easily. All the while, Drew was silently putting together his bags in their bedroom, looking for things he hadn't used in a while, like that ancient snowboard they'd hidden at the back of the closet in the hall that they used for their jackets.

He kept his head down, trying hard not to draw any attention to himself. Not that there was any need, because Drew was pretty much ignoring him anyway. And the words were building up inside him, the need to blurt out, 'what are you doing, you're supposed to - we're supposed to be telling each other things like where we're going for Christmas' but he also knew he hadn't even bothered to ask, so it was no wonder Drew was pissed with him and didn't want to tell him.

He could imagine the conversation in his head, the way it would go, asking Drew where he was going, and why he hadn't said anything, and Drew saying, in that tone of voice he had probably perfected in front of a mirror, ' _why would you want to know that, it's not even like you care_!'.

He knew he was being unfair. Drew was a wonderful person and he'd never say anything like that unless it was true. The problem was that Johnny didn't want to think about whether it was true or not. He just wanted to ignore it to make it go away on its own. Which it would. He knew it would, and if he had to kill someone to make it.

 

~*~

 

The whole train ride home, Johnny obsessed over the fact that Drew had not kissed him good-bye. It hurt so much that he felt like he was mortally wounded, a stabbing in his chest that reminded him so much of what he'd gone through a few years before. Of course, it never occurred to him that he could have gone and initiated that kiss first, but even if it had, it wasn't like he could have, because Drew was obviously pissed with him and he felt guilty - like so often lately - and ashamed for not knowing anything about his boyfriend anymore, and he didn't think he _deserved_ one, really, anyway, so he just hadn't -

It didn't matter, he told himself strictly and slowly started to gather his things as the train approached his station, five minutes left till he had to get off. The bus'd be there fifteen minutes later, so he had to stand in the cold for a while, but at least, he figured, he'd be home soon. It wouldn't matter then. He'd feel better once he was home.

And then his cell vibrated, twice, text message. He flipped it open, surprised, insides clenching hard when he realized it was from Drew. It took him a second to open it.

' _Johnny, I'm sorry for acting like I did. I never wanted for you to feel bad, especially not going on Christmas. Love, Drew_ '

He bit his lip hard and took a long breath of air. He knew he was being unreasonable. It wasn't even Drew's fault, and yet here Drew was, apologizing first. He had to do something to make this right. He knew he had to give something now, otherwise they would never work this out. Quickly he typed, ' _I'm sorry too, for being stupid. I wanted to ask, but I was scared. Please, can I call later?_ '

And just as the train entered the station and the voice from the speakers announced for everyone to please leave the train, Drew wrote back, saying, ' _Of course. I love you._ ' and that helped, a lot, more than a fake kiss would have had.

 

~*~

 

"Johnny!"

Johnny stopped walking and turned once around his own axis to see if he could find the caller of his name, or if maybe someone else was meant, and then found himself more than surprised to identify the person standing a good fifty feet away, waving a car key.

His grip tensed on the strap of his backpack, his other on the plastic bags he was holding as he hurried towards Brian, unable to believe his own eyes. "Brian - what - what are you doing here?"

Brian actually blushed. "I asked mom to borrow the car. To - to pick you up. So you wouldn't have to take the bus."

For a moment, Johnny thought he might just kiss Brian but he thought it would be rather inappropriate, so he just let go of the strap, stepped bodily close and carefully, almost expecting the rebuke, reached out for a hug. Brian didn't seem to mind. He stiffened a little when he realized what was going on, but grew into the embrace, putting his arms around Johnny as well and squeezing back, his cheek against Johnny's soft and cool from the winter air.

"I - I don't - thank you," Johnny whispered into his hair, not quite wanting to let go. Brian shifted and pulled back and Johnny let go immediately, stepping back. Brian kept a grip on his arm, looking up into his face, still two or three inches shorter.

"It wasn't a bother. Didn't have anything better to do," he said, eyes soft.

And that wasn't what Johnny'd meant, but neither of them said it out loud, because it didn't need to be said. Instead, Brian grabbed Johnny's bags from him, tugged him with and pulled him away from the station and towards the car, smiling slightly. "I hope you got me something good for Christmas, bro, or else I might re-think this whole picking-you-up thing again," he warned.

Johnny grinned back, shaking his head. "You're getting a toilet seat, just for that."

Brian stuck out his tongue.

 

~*~

 

And then, of course, Stéphane called.

"Johnny!" Brian yelled through the house. "Phone!"

Johnny came out of the kitchen and raised his eyebrows, asked "Who's it?" while reaching for the phone.

Brian mouthed, "Stéphane," with a look that spelled trouble and pressed it in his hand, scurrying off.

Johnny blinked and said, "Hi?"

"So... I have a Christmas present for you. When can you spare an hour or two?"

Johnny found himself able to spare those the evening of Christmas day, after they were all done playing Monopoly - which Brian won, three times in a row, because he claimed the bank for himself and cheated without shame. He quickly dressed in jeans and a jersey and went down to the kitchen where his parents were sitting by the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking in quiet voices.

"I'm going out for an hour or two, all right?" he asked.

Two sets of eyes focussed on his face. "Be good," his dad finally said, smiling.

Johnny felt himself flush. "I wouldn't do anything stupid."

"Not what I said," his dad pointed out.

"I'm not going to party, if that's what you mean."

"Where _are_ you going? Just so we know where to pick you up in case you don't return before three or so in the morning?" His mom was smiling as well.

Johnny had a feeling they were taking the piss, but he wasn't quite sure, so he scowled instead. "I'm not going to stay out that late. I'll be home before ten pm, promise. Anyway, Brian said he wants to watch that new Batman movie that just came out on DVD with me, but he'll be busy chatting with a friend till about nine or ten or so, so I'll be back in time."

His parents exchanged a look.

"What?" Johnny asked, voice harsher than he'd intended. "I'm not going to break my promise to him!"

"That's not what we were thinking," his mom said quietly. "But you shouldn't let him walk all over you either just because you feel guilty for what happened. You know you can say no to him if you want, right?"

"I'm not letting him walk all over me just because I let him win at Monopoly once or twice tonight or will be watching a movie with him! Anyway, I like Christian Bale, so it's not like I didn't want to see it anyway."

"We just weren't sure how you were dealing," his dad said gently. "There's no need to get defensive. I can see that you're fine and stubborn as ever, so I don't think there's any chance of Brian forcing you into things you don't want, which is all we really wanted to know."

"Well, he isn't," Johnny repeated, proving the stubbornness again. "We're fine. We're just - doing things. I'll be back in a bit. Can I go now?"

He saw his mom open her mouth to protest, but his dad quickly nodded towards the door. "Have fun." And as Johnny left the kitchen, he could hear them talk, his dad saying, "If he doesn't want to tell us where he's going, it's his choice. He can take care of himself."

He didn't hear his mom's answer, and didn't want to. He pulled on his jacket and left the house, the present for Stéphane in his pocket.

Stéphane's family was obviously at home - but meeting them, while awkward, wasn't quite the torture he'd expected it might be, possibly because Stéphane had told them they were friends and to back off in any case. Mostly, after greetings and well-wishes, they went back to their own business. Only Chris gave Johnny a small smile, almost like he knew what was going on with Brian, which he probably did, seeing as they were apparently still good friends, playing soccer together on the team.

It was funny, how seeing the house woke old memories. He hadn't spent all that much time here, back at Thanksgiving, it had just been a quick get-together, lessened in intimacy by the fact that they'd both been exceedingly careful to make sure the other knew that nothing was going to happen.

They'd met up twice since then in New York for coffee and Johnny was slowly starting to see how the pattern was evolving. Always neutral ground, always room to escape, always possibility to find something to do should their conversation derail from its usual paths. Stéphane hadn't invited him back to his apartment once, and Johnny - well. Johnny was blind on both eyes when it came to the possibility of anything even remotely romantic developing between them, but taking Stéphane home to the place Drew and him had made for each other - it felt wrong, inside, like, breaking something that already held a hairline crack as it was.

It had always been different here. This was their hometown, where they'd grown up together, Stéphane's room one of those safe zones they'd played as kids, fooled around wrestling on the ground and fighting over toys and bites of sandwiches or cookies his mother had prepared for them.

He sat down on Stéphane's bed gingerly, letting his feet dangle before settling them back on the floor. Stéphane was - there were candles in his room, burning, and some of his lights were taped with colorful lucent paper, dipping the room in greens and pinks. Stéphane looked stunning without even having to dress up, his hair shorter than Johnny'd last seen him.

"You've cut your hair," he noted, smiling.

Stéphane grinned back. "Your observational skills are astounding."

"Shut up and give me my present, bitch."

"So that's how it is, huh?" Stéphane sat down on the swivel chair standing by his desk and leaned back. "I feel dirty now."

Johnny snorted. "How was Christmas?"

"... calorific."

"That does not actually mean what you think it means," Johnny pointed out, grinning.

"Right, you'd know, rag-doll."

"Oh, what tipped you off, my rabbit-like coat or my docile and placid temperament?"

Stéphane took a package out of one of the drawers of his desk and threw it at him, half-laughing. "You're such an ass."

It was a wrapped square and not quite big, but not quite small either, heavy in his hand, like a book. He didn't realize Stéphane had moved until he felt the bed dip beside him and Stéphane sat down close, almost touching, looking at his hands as they unwrapped the paper. He had to suppress a sudden shiver down his spine that would have made him stumble if he'd been walking, and only halted the motion of his hands for a split second before allowing him to continue.

"What is it?" he whispered, biting his lip as he ripped the last of the paper off. Stéphane's breath was warm against his cheek when Stéphane looked into his face. He could feel the half-smile on those lips, and how close their faces were, so close that all he needed was to turn his head to catch them in a kiss.

He pulled his thoughts away from that direction, forced them back on the task at hand, staring at the leather-bound book in his hands he didn't quite know how to process. Finally, he realized what he was supposed to do and opened the little latch on the side, finding a beautiful ink pen and some writing on the very first, blank page.

 _for all those thoughts, to share in some way._

And in the same beautiful lettering, below, Stéphane's name.

"Uhm," he said, swallowing. "Thanks."

Stéphane must have felt his hesitation, because he quickly reached to close it at the same time Johnny did and their hands brushed. Stéphane pulled back instantly, the heat from his face strong enough to warm Johnny's cheeks as well.

"It's - it's only one part of the present," Stéphane quickly explained, voice rough and scratchy, too fast to hide the fluster. "I - there's more."

Johnny turned his head. He'd been right, their faces were inches apart, Stéphane's dark eyes huge in his face, pupils blown wide from arousal. They had matchingly flushed faces now as they both realized at the same time what was going on. Stéphane drew away with a ferocity Johnny regretted, guilt washing over them both.

"What else?" he asked to gloss over the embarrassment hanging around them. His voice sounded surprisingly stable to his own ears.

"It's - not entirely my present, to be honest," Stéphane explained. He still sounded out of sorts, but with every word it got better and there was enough space between them now for their bodies to calm. "I'm rooming with two friends, and one of them, Kimmie, she - she tends to be overbearing and overly meddling at times, but she means well and a while ago, she asked me what I was getting you for Christmas, which -"

"Wait." Johnny couldn't help but interrupt. "Your roommate knows me? I know your roommate? How -"

"No, no. It's not quite - let me explain, all right? I don't think you've ever met her, per se. So, to start at the beginning, she loves your radio show."

Johnny's eyebrows went up, but he couldn't help the pleased wave of happiness at the praise.

"And she's what you'd call a socialite - or at least, her mother is. A well-known one n New York -"

"Yeah, I've met a few of those," Johnny grinned. He didn't mind them, and they were even fun to be around at times, but most of them turned out shallow enough to be boring after a while and working with them when he had to had always turned out a lot more trouble than it was usually worth.

"Yes, but Kimmie, she's actually doing something with her life, what with her studies and living with me -"

"Which makes her life so much more fulfilled, I'm sure."

"Hah, shut up."

Johnny pointed a finger at him, laughing. "You started it."

"Would you let me _finish_ , woman?"

"I am not -"

"Acting like a fishwife -"

"Am not -"

"Are too!"

"Stéphane -"

" _Johnny_!"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Get on with it, would you."

Stéphane grinned. "You started it."

"I'm going to poison your coffee next time we go out," Johnny threatened.

"And take the most fulfilling thing of Kimmie's life away from her? Could you really account for that?"

Johnny shook his head, snorting.

"So. She knows an editor. Who - works for a publishing house."

"Obviously."

"Obviously, yes. And this editor, Kimmie showed her some of your work, both segments from your radio show as well as articles and columns you wrote for the newspaper - because, let's face it, she's your biggest fan, and she totally wants in your pants -"

Johnny batted his eyelashes. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Hah, you wish!"

"Don't need to."

"- and Mrs Petrenko has said a book deal would be definitely possible if you could present an outline and a sample of your writing, of which, as I just said, they already have some. She thinks you might fare best with a satire-like version of modern YA fiction or maybe a non-fiction book about the fashion industry in New York, since that's where your expert knowledge seems to lie." Stéphane took a deep breath. "So that's - that's what I wanted to tell you."

Johnny blinked. "I - have no idea what to say." He was completely floored. "You got me a _book deal_?"

"It's not a book deal, per se, because you still have to pass their screening process, I mean, it's a pretty renown publisher, but they like your style, I have a letter here somewhere, wait..." he grabbed the leather notebook from Johnny's hand and leafed through the first few pages till he got to a lose folded single sheet of paper. "There. It says all you need to know there. Or, you know. A lot about what you need to know. The rest you can talk to her about, she's very friendly, I talked to her on the phone and she said -"

Johnny grabbed his hand and squeezed, staring at him huge-eyed. "Shut up for a second."

"What?" Stéphane opened his mouth in surprise. "I -"

"Seriously." Johnny squeezed harder, making Stéphane wince in pain. "Shut up, or I'll have to kiss you and that would be the _worst_ thing. I'm not - I can't accept this, it's not - it's too much, and -"

"It's nothing," Stéphane pressed out, yanking his wrist back to himself. "It's your talent, I just have the luck to have a small connection. You can do it. I got you a freakin' notebook so you can write your thoughts in it. It's nothing -"

Johnny got up and walked to the other end of the room, staring at the ceiling, lips burning. "Thank you," he said, soft and desperate and couldn't quite look at Stéphane because he knew he would be giving away the feeling of such immense gratitude and - and affection and _want_ that they both wouldn't be able to take it, and he knew, he just knew that this, happening now, would make anything, any possibility for them to be _anything_ in the future impossible.

And he wasn't a cheater. He just wasn't.

Stéphane broke the silence. "I'm going to get some cake for us," he whispered. "You'll love it. My mom made it, her best yet, I swear." And hurried out of the room, leaving Johnny standing by himself, trying to gather his wits.

It was just a moment of weakness, overwhelmed by emotions because this - what Stéphane was doing for him, was just incredible. Johnny punched the wall to feel the pain run through his fist and went to the window to open it and leave fresh air pouring inside, clearing his head.

He'd be back with Drew in two or three days, he told himself. It was just because they'd been having trouble lately, that was all. This was Stéphane, after all, they were friends. People got confused all the time. Once he was back with Drew, these confusing thoughts would go away again. He needed to believe that very strongly, because otherwise, he knew, he was in so much trouble.

 

~*~


	9. Chapter 9

' _I'm arriving home tomorrow. Hope you and your family are doing well. Will be waiting for you._ ', the text message read, probably the eighteenth or nineteenth one since before Christmas. Johnny stared down at his phone and thought that if that had been him on the other side, and Drew had behaved towards him like he had, he wouldn't be writing much more than quick reassurances that he was fine. He would have left it at that, sulking.

Quickly, he typed a reply, tried to be equally sweet and loving about it; he was glad he'd get to see Drew again in two days' time. He wasn't sure Drew knew when he was coming back, but he'd hoped Drew would get what he'd been implying in the past few messages he'd sent back: that he wanted them to spend New Year's Eve together, like they always did, watching funny movies, making out, drinking cheap champagne and enjoying the fireworks over New York.

Then he threw the cell on his bed and went to bug Brian in his room.

Brian was sitting at his computer, playing some kind of game when Johnny entered. He looked up, seemed a little flushed and quickly closed the lid of the notebook, giving Johnny a reproachful look. "Don't you ever knock?"

Johnny grinned. "I know you jerk off in the bathroom, so there's really no need."

Brian threw a box of paperclips at him, face flaming. "Shut up."

"What're you always doing at that thing?" He nodded towards the machine Brian was still holding onto. "You're not going to those chat thingies where old men prey on unsuspecting teenagers, are you?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "If you have to know, I'm playing WoW."

"What?"

"A MMORPG," Brian explained, as if it was obvious to everyone what that meant.

Johnny mock-glared. "Stop yanking my chain. It was just a question."

"I'm not kidding, that's what it's called. It's an online role play game. You join as a character and you meet people and -"

"You do that kind of stuff?" Johnny blinked. "Why?"

Brian shrugged, looking away. "It's fun."

"And you have, like, friends there?"

"Sure."

"Oh. Okay." Johnny smiled and sat down on his bed, lying back, crossing his arms behind his head. "You'll have to tell me about that some day."

Brian stared. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure." Johnny grinned. "Gotta know what you get up to, right? As long as you don't get yourself in trouble getting hitched or anything."

"Actually..."

Johnny sat up abruptly. "Brian?"

Brian grinned. "I'm kidding. Nobody's getting hitched. It's just me and a friend for now anyway, we lost contact with a few people those past few months." He closed the lid completely and walked over onto the bed, bouncing onto it to sit up against the wall, poking Johnny's shoulder. "You'd love it. You can bitch at random people without them getting up in your face about it."

"Sounds like heaven."

"You sound like you're not okay."

Johnny gave him a long look. "You should be careful, that's all."

Brian grinned. "I'm always careful."

That made Johnny give out a yelp of attack as he tumbled them both over and grabbed his arms to cuddle up close to him. "See how un-careful you're being? I can get you immobilized like that!"

"That's because you caught me by surprise!"

"And because I'm stronger."

"You are not."

"Say I'm stronger, or I'm never letting you go."

"You are so not," Brian whooped as Johnny started to tickle him, getting tangled up in his sheets and pillows.

 

~*~

 

The new year started at a slow pace, not at all what Johnny was used to in terms of free time. Classes would only start again end of January, so for once - unlike in the past few years - he actually had some time to spend on himself without having an internship scheduled, rushing to get a portfolio done for something, studying for exams - though he still had to do that. Instead he mastered the photoshop program he'd been advised to use, produced some of his better designs if he did say so himself, and actually started to think about random plot possibilities for his book.

His book, which was something he hadn't dared thinking about in the last December week except for in those few seconds whenever his gaze fell on the leatherbound notebook Stéphane had given him, reminding him that putting his thoughts down _any_ where, even if it wasn't into Drew's hands, might be an improvement over keeping them all bottled up inside.

He'd never actually written fiction. He'd really considered doing a book on the fashion things, as Stéphane had proposed, but he did that every day anyway, he spent almost every hour thinking about it, and he thought something to take his mind _off_ the troubles of this world might be nice for a change. So maybe fiction... well, that's what they had editors for, surely. He could just write something and if it was crap, they could just shred it and improve what could be saved.

It snowed a little, just enough for the flakes to be distinguishable from the occasional rain splatter across the roofs, when he found himself lying on his stomach on the floor of their living room, pen in hand, putting down scenes that just came to his head, most of which with a painfully real tie to his past, because that was everything he could think of, really, to write down. And Stéphane had said he should share his thoughts.

It must have been hours in which he poured out what'd happened - Stéphane leaving, making him feel hollow inside, numb, that desire to hurt himself crawling up his throat whenever he saw someone smile happily. At least the clubs had been a comfort, at least people there hadn't cared why he looked pale and drawn, had just danced with him and made him feel good, if only for mere minutes, and later hours after the alcohol was down his throat, chasing away the tearing pain inside it.

He didn't re-read what he'd written, and he didn't plan to, ever. It made him feel better, and that was all this was, and maybe it gave him some exercise for forming words and sentences, make them come out easier, like they sometimes did when he was on air and just rambling, his brain working by itself without having all those barriers installed before it in order to slow it down and filter. He wanted to write something funny and engaging, not a sordid story of a break-hearted melodramatic teenager. But those were the thoughts that had to be purged first, for that to happen.

He didn't realize Drew was standing over him until he slid down onto his knees and finally sat on his butt next to Johnny, looking at him curiously. Then Johnny startled, sitting up with a harsh intake of breath, pulling the book close to his chest to keep it out of Drew's gaze.

"Whoa," Drew blinked, pulling back. "I'm not going to read it!" He held up his hands.

"That's not what I thought," Johnny defended himself, still clutching it tight.

"Yeah, I believe you," Drew said in a tone of voice that sounded entirely sarcastic.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I was just curious about the book. It's very pretty. Is it a diary kind of thing?"

Johnny looked back up and into his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe. It's just something to put my thoughts in."

"That's good, right?" Drew smiled. "I've heard that that's supposed to be a kind of therapy."

"I do not need therapy," Johnny snapped.

Drew's smile vanished. "First of all, that was not what I said. And second of all, behaving like that, I don't think many people would agree with you."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, so that's how it is." Drew hopped up onto his feet again and strode to the kitchen, anger seeping from ever move. "Then you know what, fuck _you_ , too."

He vanished into it and closed the door, and a moment later, Johnny could hear some of the pots rattle and clang. He had to be hungry - unlike himself, Drew did have an internship he spent most his days working at - and was staring to make some food. Johnny stood as well and carefully stowed the book in one of the drawers where he usually kept his sewing equipment before taking a deep breath and confronting this one head-on.

He was an adult now. If there was one thing he'd realized while writing his little scenes of anguish about his oh-so-tragic past, it was that the way he'd dealt with the situation back then was the way of a boy, a boy which he was supposed to have outgrown by now. An adult person didn't deal with things like he just had. Running away, lashing out, it wasn't a solution. It hadn't been then, instead it had only made him more miserable and hurt. And this was _Drew_. Drew _never_ had hurt him, not on purpose, and if he had accidentally, he'd always made it up to Johnny, always made it _better_.

He opened the door to the kitchen and slinked inside, watching silently as Drew finished peeling the potatoes and put them into the boiling water. Then spotted his moment and said, "I did not mean that."

Drew glared. "Good for you."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't, all right? I was..." Johnny hesitated, but then pressed on, stubbornly determined. "I was scared you'd make me do things I didn't want."

For a moment, he thought Drew might hit him, the look he got was so full of hostility and naked hurt, but then Drew just snorted. "Like I'd _ever_ make you do anything you don't want."

"I _know_!" Johnny stepped closer, reaching out to touch. "I know you wouldn't, but it's not - I'm all fucked up, all right? I know that. It's just instinct, I can't make it go away, that feeling that you _might_."

"Well, I wouldn't."

He didn't move away when Johnny touched his arm, which was probably a good sign. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, I know. You always are, aren't you."

Johnny looked away from his knowing gaze. "I walk around feeling guilty half the time."

Drew sighed, exasperated. "Seriously, would you just _get over yourself_? The world doesn't revolve around you. It's just - have you ever considered that if you wouldn't take yourself so serious with all your drama and you epic internal turmoil, people would just get mad at you properly once in a while and forgive you and move _on_?"

"But - if I _hurt_ you -"

"Then what?" Drew rolled his eyes and took out a pan, placing it on the stove. "So you hurt me. It sucks if you don't apologize for it, because - well, I guess it just does - but, you know, freakin' big deal, I'll work out why and try to get over it. It's not that huge an issue, especially since once I get over it, I come back and tell you how much I love you and we can just... you know. Keep going. I guess some people would call it letting you walk all over me, but I prefer to think of it as you throwing a childish tantrum and me being the bigger person by rising above."

Johnny opened his mouth.

"What bugs me a lot more, actually, is this total inability of yours to talk to me. Like, you don't talk about your past, which by the way hurts like a bitch every time I realize that you don't, but I'm good at ignoring things. Repression, you know. I want to have a successful relationship with you more than I want to be in touch with your feelings or past or whatever, I guess." Drew shrugged. "Though the fact that you don't tell me stuff that really bothers you, that's bad, because let's face it, I can ignore a lot of things, but the fact that you feel like shit is not one of those things that's _wise_ to ignore in order to make us stay together."

Johnny opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally realized that this was all a little too much. "You've been talking to someone," he concluded, because that was the only solution.

Drew stared at him like he was mental. "You - seriously, you had no idea?"

"What? About what?"

"You - I thought you _knew_. I'm _sure_ I mentioned it at some point. You might not be willing to go see a therapist with your damage, but I've been going since I was, like, twelve, courtesy of my parents. Sometimes, I ask him about how to deal with things. It's not that big a deal."

"How - what - how often do you -"

"Just like, twice or so a year. And a phone call now and then if I'm at a loss, but - seriously, this is how you listen to me?"

Johnny opened his mouth, but again was cut off before he could utter a syllable.

"I even remember telling you, like, three or four months after we started going out? I told you about how our parents made Nancy and me go and see one regularly since puberty just in case and so we had someone to talk to - I remember, we were going to the movies, and you were being dead moody again and sniping at everyone and I offered to maybe find someone you could talk to -"

"I thought you were making that shit up!" Johnny blurted. "I thought you were being..." He stopped.

"- manipulative?" Drew smiled wryly. "No, I think that's your job."

Johnny flushed hotly. "I don't. I'm not."

"You think I'm so fucking stupid, don't you," Drew said. "I don't even know, maybe I am."

"You're not."

"Well, I'm not as bright as you are, I think we're clear on that."

Johnny pressed his lips together.

"At least you're not letting me make a liar out of you. That's something."

"Drew -" And yes, of course Johnny knew that he was smarter, that he got to the conclusions faster than Drew usually did, and that sometimes, he just - afterwards, he realized what he'd done, but he didn't do it intentionally, most of the time. Like, he didn't - he wouldn't.

Drew's potatoes were boiling over, so Drew went to the rescue there and took them off the stove, getting them out of the water quickly. "You want to join me?" he asked calmly, like they hadn't just had that kind of discussion, like it was just any other normal day.

"No," Johnny said tonelessly. "I'm not hungry."

"Look -"

"I don't want to... I mean. I didn't think you -"

"- realized?" Drew shrugged. "Not most of the time, and definitely not at first. Lately more, though yeah." He snorted. "You can thank your friend for that one."

"Friend?"

"Stéphane."

Johnny swallowed. Please, he thought, not Stéphane. Not right now, not into this mess that had just landed in his lap. It was enough to deal with as it was.

Thankfully, Drew didn't derail further into the Stéphane topic. He just closed the space between them and touched Johnny's cheek. "Like I said. I'm working on it." His gaze was soft. "Are you?"

Johnny wanted to say 'Yes' very badly, he did, he wanted that single word to pass over his lips, no matter whether it was true or not, not something he'd thought about, not something he'd dared to think about with everything going on around them, or maybe too scared to do it, in any case, afraid of what he might find.

But Drew's words echoed in his head, 'letting me make a liar out of you', and he didn't want to be a liar, he wanted it to be the truth when he said 'Yes'.

"I don't know," he forced out, and saw Drew's eyes darken with sadness. "I want to," he added. "I really do."

"That's good. That - we - we're still - I mean. You're staying, right?"

"What?"

"You're not going to run just because we talked about something important for once, right?"

"No," Johnny said. He felt strangely light-headed. "I mean. It's not what I was expecting to talk to you about. I'm just surprised. I didn't -" say it, he forced himself. Just say it out loud. "I didn't expect you to react like that."

Drew nodded, and then a smile brightened his face. "And hey, you apologized for treating me like crap for a change, which is progress, right? And nobody lost a limb, so there's some good luck."

It was like he was waiting for Johnny to join in on the joke. This wasn't quite finished for Johnny yet though. There were so many other things. "I want to tell you about the stuff," he said carefully. "About the stuff I wrote in the book."

"Oh."

"I want to, I do. But I can't. Not - not now. Maybe some day. Okay? It was easier to write it down."

"I could read it," Drew offered.

"No!" Johnny shook his head. "Don't. Maybe - maybe if I re-write it some day. But not like that."

"It can't be that horrible," Drew said softly. "It just couldn't be horrible enough to make me stop loving you. You know that, right?"

Johnny gave him a tight smile and nodded, leaving the kitchen finally, leaving Drew to his food. No, he knew that very well, and Evan knew it, and probably everyone who knew they were together knew it as well. But the loving wasn't the problem. It was that the look in Drew's eyes would be different, the love would be different, not like this, tinged with a sort of sympathetic half-disgust, maybe, or misplaced empathy that Johnny didn't think he could take.

He hated the person he'd been back then, more than anything, in those months, he wanted that person buried deep, never thinking of it again. He didn't want sympathy, he didn't need love, he just didn't want to be reminded of it every time he looked someone he loved in the eye.

And frankly, he could take it from his mom, his dad, especially from Brian, but he didn't think he would be able to from anyone else. And that was just how things were.

 

~*~

 

Stéphane called - for the first time after the Christmas incident - and it was already well into January. He'd been waiting around, half-expecting Johnny to call first, but after a while realized that this was not going to happen. He wasn't quite sure why it was, if maybe Johnny had a lot of work to do and was busy, or if he was doing soul-searching he didn't want to have interrupted, or if it was simply because of the strange intimacy that had popped up between them Christmas evening, and that desire to share more than friendship.

He might have tried to suppress it, except it was proving to be rather unsuppressable as days went by, manifesting in multiple different quirky ways ranging from making him want to write flowery prose in play-format to regular jerk-off fantasies involving himself, Johnny, and a shitload of whipped cream. He would have tried harder, he guessed, if he had been unsure about Johnny's feelings in the matter, but the reaction he'd had, the threat of a kiss - it was very, very clear what was going on.

Still, he didn't mind finding out which of those it was. Also, Kimmie had been nagging him about that book Johnny was supposed to best have already finished. Plus, Brian had been annoyingly perceptive in that you-got-laid-didn't-you kind of way, which of course wasn't _true_ , Stéphane hadn't had sex for months now, but he really _wanted_ it to be, and that was enough to make Brian insufferable.

Johnny picked up after the third ring, sounded slightly pissed, asking "What is it?" There was a sound like a vacuum cleaner running in the background, loud enough to make his words sound muffled.

"Johnny?" Stéphane asked, amused. "What are you doing?"

"What does it sound like?" Johnny replied dryly, but the annoyed tone vanished from his voice. "What do you want?"

Stéphane grinned. "Multiple things, none of which I'll be getting anytime soon, I believe."

"Hah. We're in the same boat, then."

"Is something going on?"

"No. I'm cleaning the apartment. For the fifth time this week. But don't mind me."

"... are you bored?"

"Yes!"

Stéphane cackled out loud. "You are such an idiot."

"What? Why?"

"Do you want to go out, then? Because I have plenty of time to entertain you and get rid of that boredom you suffer from." Then he got an idea, and it was a _bad_ idea, he knew it was, but what the hell, right. Stéphane closed his eyes for a second and once more assured himself that he wasn't doing anything evil - because he wasn't - and said, "Or you could come here."

The vacuum cleaner stopped and there was silence from Johnny.

"Johnny?"

"I - I'm not sure," Johnny said slowly.

"C'mon, you can meet Kimmie. And my other housemate, Daisuke, if he'll come back in time to make your acquaintance."

He could practically hear the blink over the phone. "Make my _acquaintaince_? _Seriously_?" There was laughter, too.

"Shut up," Stéphane grinned. "I've been practicing early twentieth century English for a play. I can't help it."

"All right."

"No, really."

"No, I meant - all right. I'll visit your dump."

"Hey!" Stéphane snorted. "I'm the only one allowed to slander my apartment! I'll text you the address, all right? Or do you wanna meet up somewhere beforehand?"

"No, address is fine. I have to finish cleaning before I can get away and I have no idea how long that'll take. I'll text you shortly before I'm there."

"Sounds good."

"See you then."

"Bye."

Stéphane let his cell snap shut and put it down on his desk before venturing out of his room. Kimmie was washing dishes in the kitchen. "Hey, uhm - is it okay - I mean - Johnny's coming over in a couple hours, if that's okay," he announced, feeling slightly awkward. None of them did often bring friends over.

But this time, Kimmie's face told all about how she didn't mind this special visitor. Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together. "Really? Oh, finally! It's been getting time, really. I was wondering when you'd get him here to seduce him!"

Stéphane opened his mouth and closed it with a snap, praying for patience. "You've been spending too much time with Brian," he said. "That is a bad, bad thing."

"He's honest," Kimmie shrugged. "And funny. He might be an arrogant asshole, but at least he's a blunt one. I can always count on him to tell me which jeans my ass looks fat in, so to speak."

"That... is entirely too much information about your relationship with Brian," Stéphane pointed out. "And no, I do not want to know how many times you've slept together."

Kimmie smirked. "He's _good_ in bed, you know. He's not just saying that. You should give it a whirl if it doesn't work out with Johnny. You won't regret it."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Anyway, do you want me to clear out, then?"

"What?"

"Well, for your - evening of passion. Do you want me to find somewhere else to spend the evening?"

"I am _not_ going to have sex with him here, or anywhere else for that matter! He has a boyfriend! And I'm not even - I mean - we're just friends!"

Kimmie nodded knowingly, patting his shoulder with her dishwater-wet hand. "Of course you are."

"Leave me alone," Stéphane pouted and shrugged her off, glaring at the print on his shirt.

"Aw, now you're moody. See, you do need to get laid."

"Tell Brian to shut the hell up about my sex life!"

Kimmie giggled at him.

 

~*~

 

Johnny found the apartment quickly enough, but he did stand around before the entrance door for a while before he could bring up the courage to ring the bell. It wasn't that he was scared, per se, but until he rang it, there was always the possibility to write Stéphane a text that he'd been circumvented and wouldn't come after all. Then again, he knew that this was one of those times he just couldn't afford to be a chickenshit. If he skipped out now, he might never get to see the inside of Stéphane's apartment, how he lived, his famous roomies.

He wanted to know everything about Stéphane's life, more than ever. That was scary as well, but he thought, weighing them against each other, that the need was bigger than the fear.

Stéphane's beam upon seeing him at the front door paid off every single thought of doubt. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes sparkled happily as he invited Johnny in, and Johnny realized gratefully that it was good he hadn't dressed up for this. Stéphane was wearing old sweatpants and a baggy shirt, going for casual, comfortable.

"You look good," he muttered anyway, because that was what one said, or so he thought. "Thanks," added when Stéphane took his jacket off his hands.

"You look tired," Stéphane commented, grabbing his arm to pull inside, out of the hall.

It was a really nice apartment, Johnny realized with some surprise. From the way Stéphane talked about it, one wouldn't have thought it was so spacious and well-furnished. Or maybe, Johnny thought with a inward smile to himself, it was just that he'd been getting used to living arrangements in New York for three years now and knew how freakin' hard it was to find an apartment like this one for a reasonable price. Stéphane was probably used to getting double the space for the same money.

"I'm glad you made it." Stéphane's voice was warm. "I half-wondered if you wouldn't cancel on me last minute. I don't even know how busy you are right now. You are going on your last semester now, after all."

"It's okay," Johnny said. "I don't have too much to do, for a change. I - oh -"

He interrupted himself because a girl stepped out of what he assumed was the kitchen into the living room where they were standing. Johnny was immediately jealous of her wonderful, light brown hair, long enough to reach her hips without looking horrible.

"I'm Kimmie," she introduced herself, sticking her hand out, grinning like a madwoman.

"I want your hair," he said, grinning back, taking her hand.

"You should try my hairstylist, he works _miracles_." Her grin widened even further, which he'd thought impossible before. "Wait, I should even have some - oh, I know where it is - they have this whole costumer-vouching thing going on, if I - oh, never mind, I'll call him and tell him you're coming from me." She'd run back and forth in the living room, looking for something until she finally returned and handed him a card with a salon address and a phone number.

"My hair's not _that_ bad," Johnny defended himself.

"It just needs a little work. And a proper haircut."

"I do not need -"

"Seriously," Stéphane interrupted them both. "Would you cut it out? Maybe? Sometime soon?"

"Like you're one to talk, mister," Kimmie glared. "How long did I have to work on you to get you to have a proper hair-do? Solider-cut, my ass, if I'd let you do that, you'd be still crying -"

"We're going," Stéphane announced, grabbing Johnny's arm once more.

What was it with the arm-grabbing today, Johnny thought slightly annoyed and jerked it free. "Thanks," he told Kimmie instead. "For - you know." He felt himself flush. "Mostly for the Christmas present."

"Oh, really, I love your show, you're just awesome, you have so much talent. Couldn't let it go to waste." Kimmie patted his shoulder. "You just get that book written and I'll take care of the rest. I'll set up some meetings if you want, even."

"Thanks, that'd be great."

"D'you want a coffee or something?" Stéphane asked, rolling his eyes at them - again - and marching off towards the kitchen on his own. "Tea? Water?"

"Coffee sounds great," Johnny said. "Wait, I'll come with you."

"I have to get going anyway," Kimmie announced.

That made Stéphane stop in mid-step. "Wait, what? I thought you said -"

"Ah, see, Brian texted me just half an hour ago he has these lovely new sheets and I really need to see them."

Stéphane glared. Kimmie laughed, waved and headed off for the hallway to get her jacket. "Bye, Johnny. Have fun!"

"Coffee," Stéphane decided. He looked completely exasperated.

"Heh," Johnny smiled. "What was that about?"

"Hot French guy. I don't even think they're sleeping together anymore, she's just a lying liar, really."

Johnny snorted. "Where's your other roommate?"

"Daisuke's on a lecture trip with his class. Museum of Arts of some kind, don't ask me. He's into those pretty, artsy things. He'll be back in a few hours. He's really nice, you'll like him."

Johnny nodded, waiting till he'd finished making the coffee while sitting on one of the chairs by the table. He couldn't really hold back the questions, though, and finally blurted, "Why did you give me the journal?"

For a moment, Stéphane didn't answer, kept his back to him. He only turned around when he had two cups in his hands, placing them before Johnny and at his own spot, sitting down. "I think that's obvious?" he then said.

"Like, for my thoughts, yeah," Johnny said. "But - that's not all, right? I mean - you could have just gone with whatever sparkly thing that caught your eye. But you didn't, you went and had to make it all special and - I guess I just wonder what you were thinking."

Stéphane blinked. "Are you actually implying I gave you a thoughtful present for Christmas to get in your pants?"

And neither of them had really expected it to be put out there, spoken aloud; even Stéphane seemed to be caught out by the bluntness of his own statement. Still, he gathered his wits quickly and stared Johnny down hard, not lowering his gaze.

"That's not what I said," Johnny defended himself, feeling a flush coming on and fighting to suppress it because he knew it would make him look guilty. "I just thought that maybe there was... more."

Stéphane watched him for a long while before taking a sip of his coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about," he finally said coolly.

"Fine." Johnny felt like hitting him. Pretending like there was nothing going on wasn't exactly a new path of action to either of them.

"So - do you want to see my room?" Stéphane asked shortly after, quietly obvious in changing the topic.

It was a good strategy in as far as it accomplished getting the tension out of the air. Johnny felt himself relax a fraction. He'd always felt - it was strange, because he never did this with Drew, with Drew it was all avoidance and working around the central issues - but with Stéphane, it always felt like he had to address the core problems, go on confrontation course and hit on the main points, otherwise it might be too late.

It might have been still left-overs from high school, when there hadn't been much time, when there had been a set time-line in which they could interact, end of senior year announcing most probably the end of the kind of closeness they'd shared over the previous years. There had never been enough time, back then, always in a hurry to move to the next level. Johnny thought he knew quite a lot about wanting to move faster.

He got off his seat and nodded, because now, he knew, it was just how life worked out, that there was no finish line to race towards, that he had no idea where that end point was he had to anxiously anticipate. He had however long he had. Nobody could know that.

Stéphane's room was tasteful, a bit like his room back at home, his bed and shelves with books, his desk, but arranged so that movement space was at maximum, everything clean if not perfectly orderly. He had some posters on his walls, and photographs all over of himself with family, just his brother, or sister, some friends Johnny didn't know. He wasn't surprised to find there was no picture of himself on the wall.

"Those are nice," he said in order to not betray the small sting the realization brought. After all, it might not be surprising, but it was - sad.

"Yeah," Stéphane mumbled. "They are. I like to wake up in the morning and just have them there to look at. Seeing my family and stuff."

"Who're they?"

"Who?"

"They. Her." Johnny pointed at a girl with her arms around Stéphane's wait, standing in front of what looked like the Colosseum in Rome. She wasn't looking into the camera. She was looking at Stéphane, completely besotted. He wondered if he'd ever looked like that, with anyone, if - had there been pictures like this one showing Stéphane and him - if they'd had looked similar if not almost alike.

"That's Carolina," Stéphane said. His voice was gentle. "We - met in Madrid, through some friends, and we got along really well, I guess. We spent a lot of time together for as long as she was in Spain. We were.. uhm. Together. You know."

"I know what you mean," Johnny said. Of course he knew. Stéphane might not be looking back at her on this photo, but the familiarity in their pose was enough to give him a hint of what they'd been. "Are you guys still..."

"Together? Gods, no," Stéphane smiled. "It was nice while it lasted, but in the end, I guess the distance did us in."

There was something in his eyes that told Johnny that there was quite a lot more that Stéphane wasn't saying, but he didn't press. Instead, he smiled back. "I meant if you're still in touch with her at all."

"Yeah. We're still friends. She's... she's just an amazing girl. I think..." Stéphane hesitated. "But you don't wanna hear about this. It's just -"

"No, I do!" Johnny kneeled on the bed and moved closer to the photographs, trying to get a closer look at her face, and the faces of some of the other people on them. "I want to know. Really. About everything."

Stéphane joined him a second later, still looking hesitant. "I just think she might still be a bit in love with me. But I've been wondering lately."

Johnny sent him an inquiring look, nodding at him to go on. He was listening. Of course, he was listening. Stéphane's body was warm by his side, his face handsome in profile, staring at Carolina in the photo. But he was listening.

"Just - comparing the feelings, you know. Not like I have a lot to compare, but just - what we had. Back before I went. And what I had with her, and ... and just how it was all just muddled over time. But now looking back, it seems clearer."

"Clearer how?"

"That maybe I was kidding myself."

Brutally honest, and Johnny wasn't quite used to that from Stéphane, to be like that, with himself. He searched for words and found none, so instead just touched Stéphane's wrist with his fingers, hoping he'd understand.

"I'm glad we're still friends," Stéphane said.

Johnny didn't ask who he meant.

"I'm glad - you probably think I'm such an asshole, but I just had no idea, back then, with her. I didn't think it might not be - just because it was different, right, after all, it could be love and all that stuff. Different people, different feelings and like that. But lately I was thinking maybe I was just trying to get myself to forget you and everything that happened."

And Johnny'd done exactly the same, except he'd done it in a more self-destructive way. And their hands were still touching and he was still staring at Stéphane's face, who turned his head and gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm being a horrible host. I shouldn't be talking about me all the time."

Johnny opened his mouth, heard himself say, "It's all right. I don't mind," while at the same time thinking that it was entirely possible he might just blurt out everything he'd gone through himself in a second if Stéphane didn't keep talking, so he let go of Stéphane's wrist, the soft skin on the inside of it that was pulsing lightly with blood, and moved away, off the bed to walk over to the shelf, looking at his books.

"Have you read the new Harry Potter book, then?" Stéphane asked with a smile, pointing at one of the colorful covers, trying to lighten the mood.

Johnny smiled back, took the book and opened it at the page Stéphane had marked with a bookmark. "No time just yet," he said. "But I'll get around to it, eventually." As he was going to get around to many things, he hoped. "Haven't had a lot of time to read."

"And here I thought you were bored today," Stéphane teased, leaning against the wall at his back to sit up. "You should tell me all about what you're doing that's more exciting than Harry Potter."

Johnny grinned and rolled his eyes, but he thought that it was as good a way as any to present his ideas regarding the book and get some ideas of what Stéphane was thinking about them. He put the book back, and sat down on the swivvel chair by the desk, still keeping a wide distance, just in case his body decided to make untowardly advances again.

It could happen, he knew. The trick was not to let it get the better of you and to know to avoid the circumstances in which it could happen. And then, he was fairly sure, nothing could go wrong.

 

~*~

 

There was a group of teenagers, no adults, and an island they were trapped on, fighting for a way to get out without having any memory of why or where - a metaphor, Stéphane had proclaimed, his finger in the air as a grin spread over his face, for growing up and having to go out into the unknown, throwing off the shakles of childhood and finding one's own way into life.

It was hilariously cheesy in a way, and Johnny couldn't stop grinning as he made his way home in the nighty air. It was part of the attraction, of course, to just write something silly like that, but the other thing about it was that even being cheesy that way, some of it rang incredibly true, and some of the storylines they'd drawn up in the hours they'd spent holed up in Stéphane's room were eerily similar to real life events, though thankfully not frighteningly so as of course, it did have a happy end, more or less.

Well, for some of the kids, at least.

It did take him a good half hour, by various means of public transportation, till he arrived back at home, realizing with a twinge of guilt that it was close to midnight. He had completely lost track of time, they both had, spinning tales and talking and snacking on bits of apple and nuts Stéphane had scraped together from the kitchen when he'd realized Johnny wasn't really hungry.

He was hungry now, he had to admit, but it was way too late for food. He got the key, unlocked the door and slinked inside, closing it silently behind himself in case Drew was already asleep. However, the precaution was unnecessary. Drew was sitting on the couch in the living room, flickering of the TV illuminating the room as he typed on his computer.

Or didn't type, as it was, since the clatter of the keyboard stopped at once. Johnny took off boots and jacket and went over to say hello. Drew gave him a small smile, about to pull him in for a kiss, but then he stopped in mid-motion, his eyes tracking Johnny's face carefully as he rested his hand on the back of his neck, keeping him close enough to scrutinize, but not close enough to kiss. Johnny swallowed, felt himself flush hotly with an awful feeling coiling in his stomach. He hadn't done anything wrong, he knew, but it still felt like he had. And Drew wasn't saying anything, just looking at him like he wasn't quite sure _what_ to say, like there was something here he couldn't make sense of.

"Drew -" Johnny finally said, trying to get out of the grip holding him bent. It was hurting not only his intestines, making them sommersault, but also his back, which was protesting the awkward stance.

Drew let him go at once. The sharpness vanished from his gaze and Johnny could see how he pulled himself together, visible on his face as it adapted a calm, almost poised expression. "Where have _you_ been out so late on a school night?" he asked, and his voice held a teasing note that was slightly too forced to be real.

Johnny pressed his lips together. "I - uhm - I went to meet Stéphane." The name tumbled over his lips in shambles, half-stuttered, and he bit his lower lip to keep himself from saying anything more, from rambling some sort of reassurance Drew surely didn't need.

But Drew looked like he'd been kicked in the guts, despite bravely attempting to smile.

Johnny reached out with his arms to give a hug, but Drew's shoulders stiffened and he looked away, not quite giving in to it. "You smell different," he mumbled when Johnny drew back again.

Johnny blinked. "What?"

Drew shrugged. "You do."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"No." Court, sharp. Not looking at Johnny but over his shoulder, at the TV.

Johnny closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're being really weird, all right?" he finally said. "You said - you said it was okay to meet him. You said if I wanted to be friends..."

"I know what I said," Drew muttered. "I didn't realize you'd be with him all the time."

"I haven't been!"

"Well, you haven't been with me, certainly," Drew pointed out.

"That's not my fault, though! You've been working and - coming home late, so what am I supposed to do, sit around on my ass all day, waiting for you? And I didn't see Stéphane since Christmas, so there."

Drew stared at him, mouth half-open.

Johnny realized what he'd said and tightened his jaw, cursing himself and his inability to keep his fucking mouth shut. Spending time together as friends - but spending Christmas together was different. Not when Drew had never gotten to spend it with him before. And Johnny _knew_ that.

"You spent Christmas with him," Drew repeated, almost like he couldn't believe his ears.

"I didn't," Johnny quickly protested. "I just went over to his house for an hour or so to give him his present, I spent Christmas with my family, you know that."

"Yeah." Drew shook his head. "Your family."

And that fucking _hurt_ , because there was a world of unspoken accusation behind those two words, most of which contained in some way the fact that _Drew was not part of Johnny's family_. Which he should be, by all means, after all this time, and Johnny knew that, they both did, but it just didn't seem to _work_ that way.

"I'm sorry," Johnny tried. "I really am. I won't..." He hesitated.

"You won't what?" Drew snorted. "Fuck him? Looks like it's too late for that."

" _What_?"

Drew looked away. "You're _glowing_ , Johnny. Like a freakin' nuclear power station's lit up inside you."

"I am _not_. I did not have sex with Stéphane, you asshole!" Johnny felt himself start to really heat up, but not with glow, on the opposite - he was furious. "Just because you're too fucking insecure -"

"I'm not insecure," Drew hissed. "You are. I'm 'fucking' jealous, and I think I have pretty good reason to be."

"Because I'm such a slut, right. Because I'm so sex-obsessed and fuck everything on sight. That's right -"

"- well, you won't fuck _me_ , at least. Who knows, maybe you're getting your act on somewhere else."

"You did not just say that."

Drew inhaled deeply, drawing air into his lungs. "No. I didn't mean that," he muttered. He stood up, put his laptop aside and rubbed his forehead as he took a few steps away from the couch, from Johnny. "I'm just - I just don't understand why you're suddenly not happy with me anymore. Or maybe you never were and you just settled until something better came along." His hand was white-knuckled in the upholster of the couch. "I have no idea what's going on, all right? I haven't seen you beam like that, ever, and now he comes along and I thought he was someone who hurt you before, someone you wanted to be friends with, just to put it behind you, acquaintance-like. Instead he makes you sneak around till late at night -"

"This was _once_ ," Johnny pointed out.

"It doesn't matter to me. I have a feeling like I'm losing you, and _I didn't do anything wrong_!"

"You're not losing me," Johnny breathed out quickly, hurrying towards him, pulling him close into the embrace finally that he'd offered at the beginning, feeling Drew's warmth seep through his clothes into his skin. "You're not, I'm not going to go away, I'm not. I like him, a lot, and - we have so much in common, and so many memories from before, but I love _you_ , and I'm with you right now and I - I didn't settle!"

And of course, he just _wasn't sure anymore_ about that, and deep inside, he had been doubting for quite a while already if that wasn't exactly what he'd done, but that was unfair and he couldn't say that, he couldn't say that to Drew who was looking at him, lost and confused and sadness in his eyes that pulled at every single string in Johnny's body, but most of all his heart.

And he thought, if he suffered so much just seeing Drew hurt and scared like this, then it couldn't have been just a fluke, it had to be love, it had to be the real thing, right, and so what if he'd never really been _happy_ , that exuberant bright-laugh happy that sometimes happened when Stéphane said something silly or teased or just laughed himself. He'd always been content and he'd never smiled as much as he had with Drew those past years, not after Stéphane'd left, and he owed it to Drew.

So he clutched tighter and sought out his mouth in a kiss, deepening it when Drew kissed back desperately, and tried to remember what it felt like never wanting to be apart from Drew, like sometimes after sex when they just laid in bed, cuddled together, breathing each other's warmth. It would be enough, he thought, and had been enough before, and it would be enough again.

Drew's hands were a little damp finding their way under his shirt, caressing the soft skin of his back, thumbs following the line of his spine and he arched into the grip, gasping, pushing his tongue against Drew's, own hands buried in Drew's hair, keeping his head still to kiss harder, taste more, feel everything.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, it was raining in buckets, water covering the streets of New York, and he watched the raindrops make their way down the pane of their bedroom window as Drew slept behind him in the sweat-matted bed, room smelling of sex and their scents, mingled together. He looked out and barely saw the people walking by with their umbrellas, they were too small, and he felt strange inside, like he'd made a decision and regretted it.

Which was of course all wrong because he never made decisions he regretted, especially not when it came to love.

He hit his forehead against the cool glass and left it there, wondering what Stéphane was doing and if he'd understand if Johnny told him they couldn't see each other again.

He loved Stéphane, and he'd always love him, but Drew was the one who'd gotten him out of the stupor of a broken heart, and that meant more. Or at least, that's what he knew he had to keep telling himself, otherwise he'd go mad with doubt.

 

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

Drew woke up to an empty room. He realized this at about the same time he realized that it was Friday. The little jump of his heart was quickly attributed to the fright that he might have missed work, not to Johnny not being there. Not everything was about Johnny. But no, he didn't have to go in today, otherwise he wouldn't have stayed up so late last night, he remembered that.

It took him a while to get out of bed after that, his legs leaden, his eyes falling shut despite him trying to keep them open. It was almost ten in the morning, and there was no movement in the rest of the apartment, no cluttering, no padded footsteps on the carpet or in the kitchen.

Johnny wasn't home. The thought brought a wave of dizziness - sadness, and strangely relief. Lately, things had been so tense between them that Drew had been walking on eggshells all the time, trying not to say the wrong thing, not to set Johnny off in any way.

He dressed languidly, picked some sweatpants, a ratty t-shirt with a thick jersey. He wasn't going out today, after all. He'd stay in, write more on his thesis, prepare for some of the exams coming up later in the semester, maybe play a computer game or two, call Nancy.

And as if on cue, the phone rang. It finally got Drew going, out of the room towards it, picking up on the fourth ring.

"Hey," said the person at the other end, "it's Nancy. Drew?"

"I was just thinking about you," Drew said, and felt like smiling. His lips felt stiff, though, his mouth cottony from sleep, and when he touched his face he cold feel the dryness where tears'd slipped down last night after Johnny'd gone to sleep. Salt, he thought, and rubbed it away.

"What's wrong?" She sounded concerned.

"Nothing, nothing. Just woke up, that's all. Is it okay if I call you back in ten minutes? I need to shower."

"All right. Take your time, I'm at mom's."

Drew vanished for fifteen minutes under the shower spray, washing last night's activities from his body, glad to be rid of the sheen of dried sweat, and cleaning his face from the sleep and teary trails he could still feel. He got some breakfast from the kitchen and finally allowed himself to sit down comfortably on the couch, pulling a blanket over himself to keep warm.

"What did you call for?" he asked once he'd dialed back.

Nancy seemed to be smiling. "Mom wants to know if you're coming home for a week or so after your internship, before the semester starts. In my words, she misses you and thought you'd be there for Christmas or afterwards."

Drew snorted. "They were the ones who left over the holidays."

"Yeah, I know. Don't mind me. Did you get home okay from our skiing trip, then?"

"It was okay. The flight was overbooked, or at least that's what it felt like. Next time, I'm picking the location."

"Next time, you'd better tell me a while in advance that we're going away, because finding anything a few days before the fact is hard enough. Be glad you didn't have to sleep in the barn."

"Hah. Funny."

"No, seriously, though. You sound - strange. What's going on, Drew?"

"I told you -"

"Is it boyfriend troubles again?"

"No. Yes. No, no, it isn't. We just - but it's all good again now."

"Good, as in, as good as the reason why you guys _didn't_ spend Christmas together this year either and you called me last-minute to arrange details?"

"No. We just - we're working it out."

"Don't make me pull the words string by string. Just tell me what the hell's going on. You know you can count on me to not say anything if you don't want me to say anything."

"Yes, I do. It's just..."

"Johnny," she prompted.

"We're still not really talking about the important shit, which is not surprising. After all, he did tell me he didn't want me to know, not now, maybe not ever, and that he's probably never going to share."

"Do you think it's wise -"

"Nancy."

"Sorry."

"And it sucks, because that means, basically, that I'll never really get to know him or his family or anything else about him that's anywhere but _here_ , in this apartment, when he's with me, and that's..." He took a deep breath and tried to calm his stomach, bile rising in his throat. "I told him I didn't care."

"But you do."

"Of _course_ I do! I - I can't just not ask and not want to know! I love him!"

"Yeah." Nancy sounded sad.

"And now he has this friend, and I - it's my own fault because I told him it was okay if it was just friendship, but I'm going _mad_ with jealousy because they were boyfriends before and every time he comes back from this guy, he looks like he's about to burn down the house with his smile and..." Drew fell silent. He couldn't say it. She heard it anyway, probably, but he couldn't say it, because it'd sound like he was desperate, and he wasn't desperate.

"But you said it was better now."

"I told him that I couldn't - like that - and he - he said he was staying with me and he stayed here, right, and we made love and he didn't - I mean, I gave him a choice, right? I did? I don't want him to leave."

"Drew."

"What?"

"Drew, are you sure -"

"I know. But I can't, I just can't, okay? I know everything's going to shit and I hate watching us be like that, but it's better now, right, he made a choice, and he picked me. So I'm not the one in the way, I'm The One. Right?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, only soft breathing.

"Nancy?"

"I don't know."

"Why? Why don't you know, he picked _me_ , and he told me he loved me and it doesn't matter that he doesn't smile like that with me, does it, because if he _says_ he'd rather stay with me -"

"Did he?"

"What?"

"Drew, I think... I think there's a reason he doesn't tell you about himself."

"I don't - I don't know. Maybe. But he tells nobody, right, he doesn't talk about that with anybody else either, and -" and he couldn't help but think that he maybe didn't _need_ to because Stéphane had been there, with him, Drew could bet that he had been, and they had grown up together, and Stéphane was still from the same home town as Johnny, so they could spend time together, important time, and Stéphane knew his family, was maybe even part of Johnny's family, which still didn't include Drew.

"Do you think..." Nancy sounded hesitant. "Do you believe, really believe that it's enough for two people to love each other, and that that's enough to hold a relationship together?"

Drew couldn't reply. He had no idea. He didn't know anymore what he believed, he just knew what he wanted, and that was to take every chance he could get to save this relationship, to make sure Johnny was with him, and happy with him, that he could feel like he could share everything. That some day, they might be a family of their own.

"I think... I think I have to know what happened," he finally said.

Nancy made a little sound.

"Nancy? What - what do you think? Do you think it will help, us, to stay together, to have - to be _close_ to each other again?" He swallowed. It was what had been missing for a long time now. There had been instances of it, in gestures and hidden moments, in glances and touches, but it hadn't been constant, not like in the beginning when Johnny's looked to him like he was his salvation, like he was water in the desert, with need and want, pressing close even in times when he wasn't even physically there.

"I can't tell you what to do," Nancy said. "But I hope whatever he tells you, that it will help, and that you'll work out. You know I like him a lot, and I know how much you love him." She paused. "We'll be waiting at home, all right? Please, try to make it."

"I will."

"I'll go tell mom."

"Thanks." Drew bit his lip and stared at the drawer by the window with his heart beating in his chest like a jackhammer, loud and fast and pumping blood through his body so fast, he felt goosebumps rise on his arms from agitation.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"Yes. Love you too. Tell mom and dad hi, 'kay?"

They exchanged some words of goodbye and he put the phone down, never taking his gaze off the drawer.

He tried not to think too much of the consequences. He wasn't sure about anything these days, least of all things regarding Johnny, but Johnny wasn't here right now, he'd maybe return in an hour, maybe in four, but the point was that _Johnny wasn't here right now_ , and that told him more than anything about the point they'd arrived at.

He might be with Stéphane, Drew knew, he might be smiling again like that, and his heart hurt thinking about it, or he might be walking the streets of New York, confused and questioning, and Drew didn't want questioning, he didn't want unsure, he didn't want 'maybe', he wanted a yes, he wanted - he wanted Johnny to be _working_ at this.

He felt a few tears spring to his eyes and quelched them, fingers a little wet when he took them from his face, but not a lot.

The worst thing was that he knew there was hardly any hope. There was desire in Johnny's eyes and love - for that other boy, not for Drew - and along with the jealousy racing up his spine, making him clench his hands to fists, there was desperation. At some point, Johnny would give in to it, at some point, Johnny would make that step away from Drew, or maybe he already had, and Drew just couldn't believe that there was something wrong with _them_ , with the way they worked, that their love was supposed to be in any way less than what Johnny had with Stéphane.

It couldn't be, because if it was, their _years_ together, it would have all been a farce, and he couldn't bear that, just thinking in that direction made his heart squeeze to the point where he started getting no air, sight growing blurry.

It couldn't be them. It had to be what had happened to Johnny before that made it so hard for them, there had to be something about before, before they met, that was now pushing them to that brink Drew knew would smash everything they'd built together into tiny little shards, sharp and painfully cutting.

So he had to know. He had to know, because it was the only way to find out what was _wrong_ with them and fix it, and talk about it, out in the open, where Johnny hardly ever was anymore with him.

He found the leatherbound book where he'd seen Johnny put it, remembered - and suppressed - the image of Johnny clutching it to his chest protectively.

There was a searing pain in his chest when he took it out, and he ignored that, too.

It would fix everything. That was all that mattered.

 

~*~

 

Johnny walked in the rain for almost two hours before he found himself at Stéphane's door, almost a surprise to himself, with a heavy feeling in his stomach and dripping wet hair; he didn't own an umbrella anymore. He had had one of those rainbow colored ones once, but it had been stolen when he'd forgotten to keep in eye on it at college. Possibly, it was in the hands of another owner now, being carried around New York. He didn't mind so much. He liked walking in the rain. It had something very refreshing and mind-cleansing about it.

It was barely ten in the morning when he pressed the button to ring the bell. Too early, he realized, and winced, hoping they weren't late sleepers.

Kimmie's pyjamas were a sight to behold, that was for sure. He couldn't help the grin spreading over his face.

"Don't laugh," she pointed at him, smiling back. "It's an original nineteenth century nightgown, vintage. And dead comfy. Now, get in here and let me find something to pull over it, not that I think you're going to jump me in any way." She closed the door behind him and yelled, "Stéphane, Johnny's here for you!" before shrugging and making her way towards the bathroom.

He took off his shoes, his jacket and stepped into the living room.

Stéphane was in pyjamas as well, zebra-striped ones, and he looked very cute in them. His hair was mussed and standing up in all directions, but he didn't look sleepy.

"What's going on with you guys?" Johnny snorted, sizing him up.

Stéphane shrugged, looking sheepish. "We tend to sleep in on days where neither of us has classes or work, and then we eat breakfast together in pyjamas."

"That is _adorable_ ," Johnny laughed.

Stéphane flushed. "Shut up. Let me get dressed, all right? You can go in the kitchen, there are a few pancakes left if Kimmie didn't eat them all. I swear, she's pregnant -"

"I heard that!" Kimmie yelped from the bathroom.

"Possibly, it's Brian's child because he eats like that as well -"

"I'm going to _kill_ you!" Kimmie threatened, and the bathroom door slammed open, quick footsteps approaching.

Stéphane grinned and vanished into his room.

"Bastard."

Johnny raised his eyebrows. "I'll... go into the kitchen, why don't I."

"I didn't eat all the pancakes," she announced and vanished into _her_ room.

There were indeed a few pancakes left, of which Johnny stole one and started chewing, sitting down at the table, waiting for them to get moving. He realized that he still hadn't met Daisuke, and found himself a little sad. He'd have liked to. Now he wasn't going to get the chance.

Then Stéphane came back, comfortably dressed, and upon really seeing Johnny, quickly took his arm and pulled him along into the bathroom. There, he proceeded to get a towel and a second later - Johnny hadn't even been able to gather his wits - he had his hands at Johnny's head, towelling his hair, rubbing furiously.

"You're all wet," he muttered while he did it. "That's no way to keep from getting the flu, you know that. Don't you have an umbrella?"

"No," Johnny shrugged. "Should have given me that for Christmas."

Stéphane blinked at him, uncomprehending, and towelled a few more times before throwing it into the basket and getting another one, with which he touched Johnny's face.

"Gerroff me," Johnny pushed him away finally. "I can wipe my own face."

Stéphane grinned. "And here I thought you were still a baby." But he did hand over the towel. His hands were warm, a harsh contrast against the cold outside, or Johnny's face, still half-frozen from the biting wind. But at least he wasn't dripping anymore.

"What were you doing out there anyway?" Stéphane said, in that amiably exasperated way, and his gaze was soft as he smiled, watching Johnny bury his face in the fluffy cloth. "Shouldn't you be at home?"

Johnny put the towel on the sink and shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. "I needed to see you."

He realized a second too late that that sounded all wrong, that his tone of voice wasn't enough to convey what he meant, but by then, Stéphane was already staring at him, mouth a tiny bit open, and Johnny winced because there was _hope_ there, and Stéphane probably didn't even realize it was showing.

He pulled away. "I -"

"Don't." Stéphane licked his lips. "Not like this. C'mon, I should give you a dry shirt at least, this one's clinging."

"But -"

Stéphane was already turning, walking out of the bathroom, and Johnny had no choice but to follow. He wanted to just tell it, rip it off like the famous band-aid, but it wasn't that easy. He didn't _want_ to do this, he wanted to see Stéphane, spend time with him - but Drew. Drew would hate him if he kept going even after their talk, after seeing how it hurt him. Johnny didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. He just wanted everyone to be _happy_ , but that was impossible, he couldn't have both, he couldn't -

Stéphane closed the door behind them and went to his closet to pull out a shirt and a sweater he gave Johnny. They were slightly too big, the sleeves overly long, but once he put his arms around himself, he realized that Stéphane had been right, the other shirt _had_ been disgusting and this felt better, comfortable, downright cozy.

Stéphane was watching him. When he realized Johnny'd caught him at it, they both flushed and Johnny forced himself not to react, not to become trapped in that expression of complete _adoration_ that had been on Stéphane's face, that look in his eyes, heat and so much love -

He bit his lip, dropping his chin to his chest, still with his arms around himself, and startled when Stéphane touched his shoulder, standing very, very close, looking at him questioningly. "What's going on?"

"I can't - tell you," Johnny said slowly. "It's - it's so confusing, but... please, don't be mad at me."

Stéphane stared for a second, and then he did something that made Johnny's stomach drop, lifted his hand and carefully caressed Johnny's cheek, saying, "I'll try."

Johnny opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he felt his eyes water, closed them and thought, this isn't happening, this _can't_ be happening, not now, as he lifted his arms and put them around Stéphane's neck, tipping back his head to offer his lips.

The kiss was small, barely a brush of their mouths, but it set his nerves screaming for more, made him press his body flush against Stéphane's, rubbing up into him, a slow slide of flesh against flesh. Stéphane's right was still at his face, holding his jaw gingerly as their lips touched again, his left hand on Johnny's hip, top two fingers barely touching his skin under the sweater, just above his jeans.

Then Stéphane opened, slid his tongue against Johnny's, deepening the kiss, slipping into his mouth, and that woke him up, made him jerk back breathing hard, face heated like a stove, _burning_.

"Oh _God_ ," Stéphane groaned. He had taken a step back as well, was staring at Johnny like he wasn't quite sure what had just happened. "Shit, I'm s-"

"No. No, _I'm_ sorry, I - shit, this isn't happening, _shit_." He rubbed his sweaty hands on the sweater, realized too late that it was Stéphane's, and cursed again, looking _everywhere_ but at Stéphane, panicking inside. "I can't do this, I can't. I have a boyfriend."

"I know," Stéphane hurried to say. "I didn't - I didn't think, it was just - it was nothing, all right, let's not freak about this -"

"We can't see each other anymore."

"What?" Stéphane paled, and he looked like Johnny'd just hit him. "Just because -"

"No. No, not because of that, because Drew - he can't deal with this, with us being this close, it's not fair to him, it's not fair of me to make him put up with us always being _this close_ to cheating and -"

"You're not -"

"I _just did_!"

Stéphane snapped his mouth shut, dark eyes huge in his still whitish face.

"Please, try to understand."

"There's nothing to misunderstand," Stéphane snapped.

"You _promised_ you wouldn't be mad."

"No, I said I would try. But this is completely ridiculous, you don't have to stop seeing me -"

"I do." Johnny stepped closer, but Stéphane took another step back, keeping the distance. "We're - I can't - there's no _control_ and if it got out of hand, if we - I would _never_ forgive myself."

Stéphane closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face, between his eyes. He looked like he was losing it, and Johnny was afraid, for a second, that he'd just turn around and throw him out. Which, considering the circumstances, might just have been the perfect solution for all their problems. But instead, completely unexpected and surprising the heck out of Johnny, he calmed down, just a sort of composure passing over his stance, and there was almost something like serenity in the way he moved, sat down on his bed, and met Johnny's gaze.

"All right," he said softly. "If that's what you want."

"What?"

Stéphane smiled wryly. "It's funny how these things come back around, right? Life moving in repeating cycles, wasn't that the theory?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Three years ago," Stéphane pointed out. "I asked exactly the same thing of you."

Johnny swallowed. So he had.

"And you fought and made it hard on yourself and on me and there was so much - I don't think I did the right thing, I should have stayed and fought it out with you. But..." He shrugged. "I was just so tired, with everything happening. I don't know how you didn't see, but everything going on in my life back then, and my mother and the whole being treated like shit - I just didn't have the energy to fight with _you_ , too, you know? So I just always let you hurt me and took my wounded little heart and ran to lick my wounds somewhere else."

Johnny opened his mouth but Stéphane interrupted him with another smile. "Yeah, all right, I prefer running away to confrontation anyway. But you know, you've seen my family. We never fight, ever. In my whole - even when my dad was still alive, it was just how things were. There were no raised voices, no fighting. And I think that's good, in a way."

"But how do you clear the air if you don't have it out once in a while!" Johnny shook his head, sitting down beside him. "That's - that's bullshit! My family's awesome, and you have _no_ idea how much fighting there is going on at home. There's screaming and yelling and scolding and then everything's all right again and we hug or - or, I don't know, apologize and it's just how things are."

Stéphane shrugged. "Is that why you said that, back in the bathroom? About giving you an umbrella?"

"I wanted us to do the book together," Johnny admitted, flustered. "At least the storyline, the characters. It was your idea, after all."

"It wasn't -"

"Kimmie's, then. Same difference. You thought I might say yes and gave it to me."

"But now you have to leave."

Johnny grimaced. "I have to. I really do."

Stéphane looked at his lap. "All right."

He looked so unhappy that Johnny thought about hugging him, but he didn't think that would be such a good idea. Instead, he forced his inhibitions about it down and said, trying to sound confident as he could in himself, "I do still have a few hours though. If - if you don't mind spending them with me, maybe we could just talk for a bit. Just... just so I have something to remember, something good?"

For a moment, he thought Stéphane might say no, might say he couldn't take that, that it was too much to ask, but of course, it wasn't. By now he knew there was hardly anything too much for Stéphane, when it came to Johnny asking.

 

~*~

 

They ended up, somehow, lying side by side on Stéphane's bed, three hours later, facing each other, their faces a few inches apart as they talked, Stéphane's hand lying feathery light on Johnny's hip, thumb caressing his skin just above the bone, Johnny pressing his own to Stéphane's chest, feeling his heartbeat thud against his pulse, even and strong, like he remembered from times when he'd been able to put his cheek against it and just lie there, listening.

"... how about we give them all different ethnicities?" Stéphane was just proposing, his voice a little slurred.

"I like that," Johnny murmured back, sleepy. "Or we could just have mostly Americans and a few different cultures, and only Americans die. Because there's too many of us as it is. What's a few less, right?"

Stéphane snickered. "You're crazy. Why do you keep wanting to kill people off?"

"Dunno... maybe not. But if the island's dangerous."

"Mmmmh, sounds like LOST," Stéphane smiled.

"Don't watch that," Johnny smiled back. "It's bad for your mental health."

Stéphane snickered some more.

"I don't want a clear ending, though."

"I know."

"You do?"

"You've said so three times already."

"Oh."

Stéphane's hand tightened on his hip as the corners of his lips lifted, eyes filled with mirth. "We can just make it seem like there's definitely a way to get off the island but not show what they do in the end, so people can imagine what they want, who gets off, who doesn't make it -"

"Plus," Johnny laughed. "Perfect set-up for a sequel."

Stéphane leaned in and bumped their noses together gently, laughing back at him. "You're impossible."

"I know. You've never seen anyone as beautiful as me before, admit it."

"Or after," Stéphane said softly, and his hand found its way back to Johnny's face, his thumb a touch over his cheekbone.

Johnny closed his eyes and felt the sensation wash over him, his dick hard in his pants as his skin prickled. He bit his lip, keeping a little moan in, and didn't say a word, couldn't have even if he'd wanted to, voice failing.

"We need to get up," Stéphane said.

"Hm."

"Johnny. I have to go out in half an hour, I have to get ready."

"Where're you goin'?" Johnny asked, still enjoying the caress.

"Meeting with a few class-mates to revise and practice voices. I really have to go."

"I always -" Johnny swallowed. "I don't I think ever _stopped_. You know?"

They both knew what he was talking about. Stéphane inclined his head, pressed their foreheads together. "I don't think I ever will."

His breath was warm and sweet against Johnny's mouth and he shuddered, as if a ice cold gust of wind had swept through, just an instant. Then Stéphane separated from him, taking his heat and his skin and his breath with him and Johnny was glad for it, in a way, because he knew where that had been leading, and he couldn't have again.

Even though he wanted to, very badly.

They parted at the door, and Stéphane hugged him, long and hard, their bodies one for just that last time, before Johnny turned around and ran down the stairs at a speed that half made him fall down the last stairs, never looking back.

His head cleared once he was outside. He only then realized he'd felt as if enveloped by fog, mist clouding his mind, as long as he'd been in Stéphane's presence, intoxicated, deliriously happy, body singing with pleasure. And he didn't know whether to love or hate the feeling, so he decided on hate and forced himself to feel that spike of annoyance about it, because otherwise the pain in his chest might have overwhelmed him, and he couldn't think about that now, he couldn't. He had to get back to Drew and tell him that he'd made his choice.

 

~*~

 

And then Johnny found Drew sitting on the couch, staring ahead without seeing anything, and he only noticed the closed journal on his lap on second glance, which was when he realized. For a long moment, he just stood there, unable to believe his eyes, unable to believe that this was really happening, a strong jolt of anger shooting through him, covering the sensation of despair and sorrow that flooded him.

"Tell me you didn't read it," he whispered, almost destroying his jacket, he was clutching at the material so hard. "Drew - Drew, tell me _you didn't read it_."

Drew still wasn't looking at him when he said, "Why didn't you tell me? There's nothing - I would have _understood_."

"I don't need or _want_ you to understand, I don't want your fucking understanding, or your sympathy or your pity for the poor broken boy, all I ever wanted from you was _to be able to trust you_."

"You're a liar," Drew said, hard.

Johnny jerked back, feeling like he'd been slapped. "What?"

"You never needed me to be that person. You just needed someone to put you back together." Drew's lips tightened. "Well, I seem to have done not such a good job with that. But maybe Stéphane can do better."

His face heated up. "I went to him to _say goodbye_!"

Drew's gaze settled on his clothes, and he snorted. He was still holding on to the journal, and Johnny wanted to go over, rip it out of his hands and beat him up with it, make him swear he'd never touch it again. But it wouldn't be enough.

"Whatever it was you went to get from him - I wouldn't ever find out anyway, would I, because I can't look into your brain. It's on your conscience."

"Why did you have to look?" Johnny asked, and his voice sounded raspy to his own ears, like he hadn't had anything to drink in years. "You said - you said you'd wait, you said you didn't mind waiting for me to tell you, and now it's all ruined, you ruined everything -"

"No, I didn't." Drew gave a bitter laugh. "You did."

"I didn't do anything," and he wasn't thinking about that kiss, because that was once, and it didn't count, and it would never happen again anyway, not now, not ever, not with Stéphane, and the thought _hurt_ like a whiplash over his back.

"You don't even want to be with me anymore." It showed how much it cost Drew to say those words, his fingers white around the leather of the book. "You don't, you're just staying out of some fucked-up sense of obligation, because of what happened to you and because stupid little me fell in fucking _blind_ love with you and took care of you afterwards."

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut. "That's not true."

"You're not even working on it, you said so yourself." Drew took a deep breath. "You never said - you _never_ since this started said you'd rather be with me than with him. I just -" A tear slid down his cheek and caught on his upper lip. "I don't think you even know."

There was nothing he could say, just a huge emptiness where his stomach had been, and his heart beating so hard, from fear and anger and _seeing Drew like this, coming apart_ , and he felt like he was being split in two, feeling violated, and guilty, so guilty because Drew was right and - but it wasn't really a choice, was it, it wasn't no strings attached, and the strings were all with Drew now, Stéphane had cut theirs off when he'd left, leaving him behind broken-hearted.

"I want to hate you so much right now," he said tonelessly. "You shouldn't have read it, you shouldn't - how could you _touch_ it even when I told you - how could you think it would fix anything to go and do that." He didn't say it, but it was there, on the table between them, like mind-rape, like reading a person's deepest thoughts without their permission while they wandered about in their head.

More tears over Drew's face, but he wasn't coming apart like Johnny thought he himself might be, his shoulders weren't shaking, his body wasn't trembling. His eyes were clear, and cool, when he held out the book for Johnny to grasp.

"I guess," he said, voice breaking on the second word, "it's a good thing then that I'm breaking up with you."

The floor beneath Johnny opened up and swallowed him, or that was what it felt like, like falling into a hole that had suddenly appeared without warning, insides wrenching from the gravitation. He blinked twice, opened his mouth and found no words, not a single one, like suddenly everything was in a foreign language and he _didn't understand what was going on_.

And Drew didn't say anything more either, just placed the book on the table and rose to his feet, wavering, like he couldn't quite find his balance.

"You - you can't," Johnny finally choked out, holding him back, reaching out with his hand. "You can't, you - we're _us_ , you can't, Drew, we're - I love you, I _do_ , but if you stop fighting for this, then -"

"- nobody'll be fighting anymore," Drew said, a drop hitting the ground, then another. "I'm sick of being the only one giving a fuck about 'us'."

"I care -"

"You're _in love with someone else_."

Johnny's whole body tensed, fluttering, arms around himself to protect himself from the words, which were true. The lump in his throat grew, eyes watering.

"And you're in love with him more than you were ever with me. It's in every word of your damn journal."

There was nothing he'd ever heard that sounded more bitter, more angry, more in pain, and it tore through him, making his body go cold, but not like the cold from walking in the snow with just a shirt, cold from the inside, like his blood was frozen, and his heart slowly pumping the ice through his veins, trembling, shaking from it.

"You can't," he repeated, in a whisper, because he couldn't, he just couldn't. It had been years.

Drew didn't say anything, just turned and quickly walked into their bedroom, closing the door, a clear sign of Do Not Disturb, like that was going to keep Johnny out, and he hurried after him only to stop in front of the door, hand raised to the handle.

Drew didn't want him anymore. He'd made himself clear, abundantly so, not sparing any truths, and he was _right_ , of course he was, because there was Stéphane and even now, even with his heart telling him to go inside and curl up with Drew, stop the sobs that were coming from the room, suppressed but still audible no matter how hard Drew tried to keep them down - even with his heart telling him to go in and _make it better_ , he was still wishing Stéphane was here to hug him, nuzzle his neck and kiss his forehead, telling him it'd be all right.

And he couldn't live like that, he couldn't be split apart all the time, being with Drew, loving him, and loving Stéphane, longing for him - he couldn't, and Drew knew that as well as he did himself.

Someone had to make a sacrifice here, and Johnny wanted it to be himself, just because he'd hurt Drew so much already - but Drew had taken that choice away from him, _protecting_ him even in this, and it was fucking _unfair_ , because Johnny had never, ever asked Drew to take any of his choices on himself, and he'd certainly never asked Drew to be that shield for him, and yet Drew always did, always there, always trying to spare as much pain as he could.

Johnny closed his eyes and put his forehead to the door, breathing in hard, slow, torturing himself by listening to every single harsh breath from Drew, with every imagined tear and heart-wrenching sob, and stayed until he couldn't take it anymore, until his heart was in shambles, and then turned and ran outside, not even picking up the jacket he'd discarded of earlier, not looking at the journal, at anything except the next door and the next door and the street, out, always out.

 

~*~

 

He was barely holding it together as he stumbled up towards Stéphane's apartment door, squeezing his eyes shut every two seconds to keep the tears in, everything so they wouldn't fall. He stumbled twice, almost broke his neck losing his balance when he miscalculated the distance from the railing and grabbed into thin air.

He just had to make it inside, so that nobody would see, get past Stéphane's roommates into his room, where it was warm and they could pull the curtains to make it dark-ish, comfortably huddled under the bedcovers.

But then, Daisuke opened the door, and Johnny just broke down. A sob tore through his body, and the tears started to fall, running down his face in an ugly avalanche, cascading out of him. He buried his face in his hands and squeezed past, sobbing quietly; unable to see where he was going, stumbling again.

"Don't, c'mon, here -" the soothing voice, and he'd never even _talked_ to Daisuke before, but the boy was grasping his shoulder, rubbing the flat of his hand slowly over Johnny's back, murmuring, leading him along so he wouldn't kill himself by accident.

"Kimmie -"

A door opened and he heard a sound, like an 'oh', and that made him stop for a second, lifting his face out of his hands, meeting Kimmie's shocked gaze before he took a hysterical breath, more tears following.

"Oh, oh god, what happened?" Kimmie asked, rushing to his side, standing to the other side of Daisuke, slowly leading him into Stéphane's room, and it was exactly as Johnny had imagined, only it smelled like Stéphane and that calmed him down a little, enough to be able to whisper, "We broke up." It was final, it was done, and "I can't do this again," he moaned, burying his face in Kimmie's neck, "I can't, I just - I can't."

Kimmie didn't say a word, just kept rubbing his back, up and down, smoothing his shirt, and underneath to get at skin, because her fingers were more soothing, warmer against Johnny's body like that, helped more.

And still, Johnny couldn't stop crying and Stéphane wasn't even here, he remembered, away, and that made him cry harder.

It had been like this once before; he didn't want to think about that, except of course, his mind wasn't listening and the feelings all came back up again, the loneliness, the feeling of _betrayal_ , that sensation that he'd trusted someone and loved someone and it was _all over_.

He'd cried all through Evan literally fucking him into unconsciousness, from the pain and the way his chest felt like it was exploding and for all his own stupidity, for doing everything wrong, for destroying what might have worked out.

He'd cried and then, afterwards he'd stopped crying, and he hadn't since.

After Stéphane'd gone and told him they'd never see each other again, he hadn't cried, hadn't allowed himself to cry; instead, there had been numbness through his whole body from his toes to the top of his head, a feeling of disconnectedness from the world, almost like he wasn't a part of it anymore, like he was barely able to feel anything at all, never mind his body. He hadn't cried when the guy'd pressed him face-first into the pillows in a room smelling of booze and cigarettes, pushing into him, tearing him up inside, despite his 'no, no, _please_ ', feeble protests at best; hadn't cried at the broken look in Brian's eyes, though he'd wanted to, badly, just get down on his knees, curl up and cry so hard till that knot in his chest burst, till Brian stopped looking at him with his gaze saying 'this is all your fault', so much more effective than saying the words out loud.

He hadn't cried for a long, long time, and now it was all coming out, along with the snot and the sniffles and the water, and Daisuke was dotting his face with a soft, fluffy handkerchief, a pretty one - or as pretty as he could make out through the blur.

"Shhh," Kimmie whispered, helping him to sit on the bed, back against the wall, and climbed on beside him, and he felt a discussion going on over his head but he didn't care what it was about, only cared that it seemed resolved when Kimmie grasped Daisuke's hand and pulled him down as well, to Johnny's other side not quite as close as Kimmie was, arms around his pulled-in shoulders, embracing him tightly.

He buried his face in his hands once more, and Daisuke handed him the cloth, which he bunched up, rubbing his face with it hard.

"It's all right," Kimmie soothed. "I'm sorry."

Which set him off again.

It was kind of funny too, because he could see now Daisuke giving her an eyeroll, and Kimmie glaring back, mouthing something, and they were really hilarious and no wonder Stéphane liked them as much as he did.

"Go make tea," Daisuke finally said aloud, and that was fine. "He'll be dehydrated."

After a second of silent fighting, Kimmie hugged him once more, pressing a kiss to his damp hair, and got up, leaving the room.

"I'm sorry," Johnny muttered, rubbing his eyes with the handkerchief again. "I'm sorry for bothering you guys."

"I'm sorry Stéphane isn't here," Daisuke muttered. "It's unfortunate."

But Johnny wasn't sure it was. In a way, there was relief coursing through his body because he hadn't really thought about it, before, he hadn't considered anything but the fact that he would feel safe here, in this apartment, that it was a place where he could maybe suffer undisturbed.

"It's fine," he murmured. "Thanks for letting me in anyway."

"Any friend of Stéphane's is welcome," Daisuke said quietly.

"Thank you."

"Do you need anything? Should I call -"

"No." Johnny quickly shook his head. "I just - can I have a few minutes to myself? I promise I won't make any trouble, I just - needed a place to hide out for a while before I go back and... and deal."

Daisuke was looking at him, an expression in his eyes Johnny couldn't figure out, and then nodded. "That is very brave of you."

"No it isn't," Johnny snorted. "I just can't think straight, that's all. If I could, I would probably be already on my way to somewhere far away, like Europe or Asia. Do you have any relatives who'd be willing to take on an almost-finished fashion student with some writing and radio experience?"

Daisuke gave him a little smile. "Sorry."

"'s okay." Johnny rubbed his face dry one more time and blinked and squeezed his eyes shut a few times to make sure he wasn't going to break out in tears again. "I just - I need to. For a while?"

Daisuke patted his shoulder awkwardly and left the room, another smile, this time warmer. Johnny couldn't smile back yet, but his chest felt less cluttered, his heart not quite as tightly bound as before.

Just a few minutes, he thought, letting himself lie down on the bed, eyes wide open, and he didn't even realize his hands were shaking. Just a few minutes and he'd leave again, he couldn't stay. He couldn't stay and wait for Stéphane, because this wasn't about Stéphane. Drew could say it was, and he was right about being in love and wanting and needing, and it was one of the reasons they hadn't worked out, but not all of them, and most of them were Johnny's fault, and some of them Drew's, and -

His mind kept recoiling from the simple thought that they weren't _them_ anymore, that it was _over_ , it felt unreal and like it had maybe all been a dream. And yet, it was, and he had to deal with that, by himself, he had to, and this time, he would do it right, this time, he'd try to _work it out_ , and he couldn't have anyone else be his glue, or his shield.

His whole body was sore from the pain and it wasn't stopping and it wouldn't, he knew, anytime soon, but he had to learn to live with it. He knew that now, after everything. He couldn't drown it out, or ignore it and repress it with drugs and alcohol and sex, he couldn't use another person like he'd used Drew, to help him pick up the pieces.

He closed his eyes, just for a little while, and resolved to keep his promise, at least for now, because he wouldn't do that to Drew - because it wasn't like they were interchangeable and Drew had _never_ been a substitute for Stéphane, and that was something he needed to know, something Johnny had to tell him, straight out, before they went seperate ways. But Stéphane would never be a substitute for Drew either, and so he would have to wait till Johnny was done dealing with the break-up, with the pain and the way he was bleeding inside.

Maybe - no, certainly, of course he would - when he was done, when he was at peace with himself, would come back to Stéphane, but in the meantime, he thought it was good that they'd already said their good-byes.

 

~*~


End file.
